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“Momsy’s guessed!” Felix clapped his hands with delight.

“‘Sh! Hush, Felix! Yes, Momsy, it ‘ll do one of those things exactly,” said Meg. “And now I say we’d better break up this meeting before the ponies tell the whole business.”

“F’lix never telled a thing,” chirped Felicie, always ready to defend her mate. “Did you, F’lixy? Momsy said ‘dinner’ herself.”

“So I did, dear; but who is to get the dinner and why you are going to send it are things mother doesn’t wish to know. And here are my two dollars. Now off to bed, the whole trundle-bed crowd, for I have a lot of copy to write to-night. Ethel may bring me a bite, and then sit beside me and write while I sip my tea and dictate and Meg puts the chickens to roost. And Conrad will keep quiet over his books. Just one kiss apiece and a hug for Dolly. Shoo now!”

So the party was decided.

* * * * *

The Frey home, although one of the poorest, was one of the happiest in New Orleans, for it was made up of cheery workers, even little Dorothea having her daily self-assumed tasks. Miss Dorothea, if you please, dusted the banisters round the porch every day, straightened the rows of shoes in mother’s closet, folded the daily papers in the rack, and kept the one rug quite even with the front of the hearth. And this young lady had, furthermore, her regular income of five cents a week.

Of course her one nickel contributed to the party had been saved only a few hours, but Dorothea was only five, and the old yellow praline woman knew about her income, and came trudging all the way up the stairs each week on “pay-day.”

Even after the invitations were sent it seemed to Dolly that the “party-day” would never come, for there were to be “three sleeps” before it should arrive.

It was Ethel’s idea to send the cards early, so as to forestall any home preparation among the guests.

But all things come to him who waits–even Christmas. And so at last the great day arrived.

Nearly all the invited had accepted, and everything was very exciting; but the situation was not without its difficulties.

Even though she was out every day, it had been so hard to keep every tell-tale preparation out of Mrs. Frey’s sight. But when she had found a pan of crullers on the top pantry shelf, or heard the muffled “gobble-gobble” of the turkey shut up in the old flour-barrel, or smelt invisible bananas and apples, she had been truly none the wiser, but had only said, “Bless their generous hearts! They are getting up a fine dinner to send to somebody.”

Indeed, Mrs. Frey never got an inkling of the whole truth until she tripped up the stairs a half-hour before dinner on Christmas day to find the feast all spread.

The old mahogany table, extended to its full length, stood gorgeous in decorations of palmetto, moss, and flowers out upon the deep back porch, which was converted into a very pretty chamber by the hanging curtain of gray.

If she had any misgivings about it, she betrayed them by no single word or look, but there were bright red spots upon her usually pale cheeks as she passed, smiling, into her room to dash into the dinner dress Ethel had laid out for her.

To have her poverty-stricken home invaded by a host of strangers was striking a blow at the most sensitive weakness of this proud woman. And yet the loving motive which was so plain through it all, showing the very spirit in her dear children for which she had prayed, was too sacred a thing to be chilled by even a half-shade of disapproval.