Darsie sat on the hearthrug, and prodded the fire vigorously to mark each point scored. Vie wrote from dictation at the centre table. Dan sat chuckling in his own particular chair, and allowed himself to be cast as hero with lamblike calm, and plain Hannah affected dire displeasure at being passed over for the part of beauteous maid. It was like the dear old days when they had all been young--_really_ young--in pinafores and pigtails, with no dread of coming Tripos, no agitation about youthful lawyers to chase away sleep at night! Looking back through the years, that hour stood out in remembrance as one most happily typical of the dear home life. The programme was delicious. Vie discovered a great sheet of white paper, left over from the parcel wrappings of the week before; Dan printed the words in his most dashing fashion; John nailed it on the lid of a packing-chest, and the whole party escorted it round the terrace to the Garnett dwelling, and waited in the street beneath until it was conveyed upstairs, and Lavender, discreetly swathed in a shawl, appeared at her lighted window and waved a towel in triumph. This was the programme-- On Wednesday Afternoon Next (_Weather permitting_) In Aid of the Fund for Sick and Suffering Spinsters A First Performance will be given of The Blood-Curdling and Hair-Raising Melodrama entitled The Blue Cabbage by Allthelotofus. _Dramatis Personae_. Efflorescence (A Guileless Maid)--Miss Darsie Garnett. Meretricia (1st Villainess)--Mr Harry Garnett. Mycrobe (2nd Villainess)--Mr Russell Garnett. Elijah B. Higgins (Hero)--Mr Dan Vernon. Sigismund La Bas (A False Caitiff)--Mr Percy Lister. D. Spenser (Certificated Poisonmonger)--Mr John Vernon. Endeavora (A Well-Meaner)--Miss Clemence Garnett. The Greek Chorus--Miss Hannah Vernon. _N.B.--_There is no Cabbage! Imagine the feelings of a solitary invalid on receipt of such a programme as the above--a programme of an entertainment organised, composed, and designed wholly and solely for her own amusement! Lavender's mumps were at a painful stage--so sore, so stiff, so heavy, that she felt all face, had no spirit to read, craved for companionship, and yet shrank sensitively from observing eyes. Let those jeer who may, it _is_ an abominable thing to feel a martyr, and look a clown, and poor Lavender's sensitive nature suffered acutely from the position. Then oh! it was good to feel that to-morrow something exciting was going to happen--that she would be amused, cheered, comforted; that her dear companions would be near her, so near that once again she would feel one of the merry throng. If only it were fine! Really and truly Lavender felt that she could not support the blow if it were _wet_. Mumps seem to sap the constitution of moral force; if she could not see the melodrama, she would weep like a child!