Lillian, the aesthetic,
practiced her most graceful poses before the large mirror in the
parlor; Martha rushed about, changing the order of the furniture, and
Papa Hart, just come in from work, paced the rooms disconsolately,
asking for dinner.
"Dinner!" screamed Mama Hart, "Dinner, who's got time to fool with
dinner this evening? Look in the sideboard and you'll see some bread and
ham; eat that and shut up."
Eight o'clock finally arrived, and with it, the music and some
straggling guests. When the first faint chee-chee of the violin floated
out into the murky atmosphere, the smaller portion of the neighborhood
went straightway into ecstasies. Boys and girls in all stages of
deshabille clustered about the door-steps and gave vent to audible
exclamations of approval or disapprobation concerning the state of
affairs behind the green shutters. It was a warm night and the big round
moon sailed serenely in a cloudless, blue sky. Mrs. Tuckley had put on a
clean calico wrapper, and planted herself with the indomitable Stella
on her steps, "to watch the purceedings."
The party was a grand success. Even the intensely critical small fry
dancing on the pavement without to the scraping and fiddling of the
string band, had to admit that.
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