Wednesday came.  Such doings had never been heard of in Rockland as went on that day at the “villa.”  The carpet had been taken up in the long room, so that the young folks might have a dance.  Miss Matilda’s piano had been moved in, and two fiddlers and a clarionet-player engaged to make music.  All kinds of lamps had been put in requisition, and even colored wax-candles figured on the mantel-pieces.  The costumes of the family had been tried on the day before:  the Colonel’s black suit fitted exceedingly well; his lady’s velvet dress displayed her contours to advantage; Miss Matilda’s flowered silk was considered superb; the eldest son of the family, Mr. T. Jordan Sprowle, called affectionately and elegantly “Geordie,” voted himself “stunnin’”; and even the small youth who had borne Mr. Bernard’s invitation was effective in a new jacket and trousers, buttony in front, and baggy in the reverse aspect, as is wont to be the case with the home-made garments of inland youngsters.

Great preparations had been made for the refection which was to be part of the entertainment.  There was much clinking of borrowed spoons, which were to be carefully counted, and much clicking of borrowed china, which was to be tenderly handled, for nobody in the country keeps those vast closets full of such things which one may see in rich city-houses.  Not a great deal could be done in the way of flowers, for there were no greenhouses, and few plants were out as yet; but there were paper ornaments for the candlesticks, and colored mats for the lamps, and all the tassels of the curtains and bells were taken out of those brown linen bags, in which, for reasons hitherto undiscovered, they are habitually concealed in some households.  In the remoter apartments every imaginable operation was going on at once,—­roasting, boiling, baking, beating, rolling, pounding in mortars, frying, freezing; for there was to be ice-cream to-night of domestic manufacture;—­and in the midst of all these labors, Mrs. Sprowle and Miss Matilda were moving about, directing and helping as they best might, all day long.  When the evening came, it might be feared they would not be in just the state of mind and body to entertain company.

—­One would like to give a party now and then, if one could be a billionnaire.—­“Antoine, I am going to have twenty people to dine to-day.”  “Biens, Madame.”  Not a word or thought more about it, but get home in season to dress, and come down to your own table, one of your own guests.—­“Giuseppe, we are to have a party a week from to-night,—­five hundred invitations—­there is the list.”  The day comes.  “Madam, do you remember you have your party tonight?” “Why, so I have!  Everything right? supper and all?” “All as it should be, Madam.”