“We always thought our mother was the prettiest of any of the girls’ mothers.  She had such bright shining hair, and she put it up with shell combs into such little curly puffs.  And she never seemed fussy or old, but she came in among us with such a beautiful, smiling way, as if she knew beforehand that it was all right, and there was no danger of any mischief, or that we shouldn’t behave well, but she only wanted to see the good time.  That day she had on a white muslin dress with little purple flowers on it, and a bow of purple ribbon right in the side of her hair.  She had a little piece of fine work in her hand, and after she had spoken to all the little girls and asked them how their mothers were, she went and sat down in one of the front windows, and made little scollops and eyelets.  I remember her long ivory stiletto, with a loop of green ribbon through the head of it, and the sharp, tiny, big-bowed scissors that lay in her lap, and the bright, tapering silver thimble on her finger.

“Pretty soon the door opened again, softly; a tray appeared, with Hannah behind it.  On the tray were little glass saucers with confectionery in them; old-fashioned confectionery,—­gibraltars, and colored caraways, and cockles with mottoes.  We were in the middle of ‘So says the Grand Mufti,’ and Grace Holridge was the Grand Mufti.  Hannah went up to her first, as she stood there alone, and Grace took a saucer and held it up before the row of us, and said, ’Thus says the Grand Mufti!’ and then she bit a red gibraltar, and everybody laughed.  She did it so quickly and so prettily, putting it right into the play.  It was good of her not to say, ’So says the Grand Mufti.’  At least we thought so then, though Susan Bemys said it would have been funnier.

“We had a great many plays in those days, and it took a long afternoon to get through with them.  We had not begun to wonder what we should do next, when tea time came, and we went down into the basement room.  It wasn’t tea, though; it was milk in little clear, pink mugs, some that mother only had out for our parties, and cold water in crimped-edge glasses, and little biscuits, and sponge-cakes, and small round pound-cakes frosted.  These were what had smelt so good in the morning.

“We stood round the table; there was not room for all of us to sit, and mother helped us, and Hannah passed things round.  Susan Bemys took cake three times, and Lucy Waldow opened her eyes wide, and Fanny Dayton touched me softly under the table.

“After tea mother played and sung some little songs to us; and then she played the ‘Fisher’s Hornpipe’ and ‘Money Musk,’ and we danced a little contra-dance.  The girls did not all know cotillons, and some of them had not begun to go to dancing-school.  Father came home and had his tea after we had done ours, and then he came up into the parlor and watched us dancing.  Mr. Dayton came in, too.  At about half past eight some of the other fathers called, and some of the