Early in January Mrs. Nipson announced that in four weeks she proposed to give a “Soiree,” to which all young ladies whose records were entirely free from marks during the intervening period would be allowed to come.  This announcement created great excitement, and the school set itself to be good; but marks were easy to get, and gradually one girl after another lost her chance, till by the appointed day only a limited party descended to join the festivities, and nearly half the school was left upstairs to sigh over past sins.  Katy and Rose were among the unlucky ones.  Rose had incurred a mark by writing a note in study-hour, and Katy by being five minutes late to dinner.  They consoled themselves by dressing Clover’s hair, and making her look as pretty as possible, and then stationed themselves in the upper hall at the head of the stairs to watch her career, and get as much fun out of the occasion as they could.

Pretty soon they saw Clover below on Professor Seccomb’s arm.  He was a kingly, pleasant man, with a bald head, and it was a fashion among the girls to admire him.

“Doesn’t she look pretty?” said Rose.  “Just notice Mrs. Searles, Katy.  She’s grinning at Clover like the Cheshire cat.  What a wonderful cap that is of hers!  She had it when Sylvia was here at school, eight years ago.”

“Hush! she’ll hear you.”

“No, she won’t.  There’s Ellen beginning her piece.  I know she’s frightened by the way she plays.  Hark! how she hurries the time!”

“There, they are going to have refreshments, after all!” cried Esther Dearborn, as trays of lemonade and cake-baskets appeared below on their way to the parlor.  “Isn’t it a shame to have to stay up here?”

“Professor Seccomb!  Professor!” called Rose, in a daring whisper.  “Take pity upon us.  We are starving for a piece of cake.”

The Professor gave a jump; then retreated, and looked upward.  When he saw the circle of hungry faces peering down, he doubled up with laughter.  “Wait a moment,” he whispered back, and vanished into the parlor.  Pretty soon the girls saw him making his way through the crowd with an immense slice of pound-cake in each hand.

“Here, Miss Rose,” he said,—­“catch it.”  But Rose ran half-way downstairs, received the cake, dimpled her thanks, and retreated to the darkness above, whence sounds proceeded which sent the amused Professor into the parlor convulsed with suppressed laughter.  Pretty soon Clover stole up the back stairs to report.

“Are you having a nice time?  Is the lemon-ade good?  Who have you been talking with?” inquired a chorus of voices.

“Pretty nice.  Everybody is very old.  I haven’t been talking to anybody in particular, and the lemonade is only cream-of-tartar water.  I guess it’s jollier up here with you,” replied Clover.  “I must go now:  my turn to play comes next.”  Down she ran.

“Except for the glory of the thing, I think we’re having more fun than she,” answered Rose.