No fear of kill-joy amateurs with "Musical chairs." The children had become experts at the pastime through other parties innumerable. She seated herself at the instrument and ran her fingers over the keys. Slowly the procession started. Little girls lingered as long as possible by each inviting seat. Boys scurried past the chairs facing in the opposite direction, or slid around the treacherous ends lest they be caught. Still the waltz strains swung onward until they seemed eternal to the anxious players. Then a false note, another, a pause, and a wild scramble for safety. Bashful maidens sat on trousered knees and scrambled up after still vacant places. Other players squabbled for the possession of contested chairs. At last the babel died away, and another cry arose: "Johnny, Johnny, Johnny Fletcher's out of it." It was always the way; he was ever too reluctant to dispossess a girl of a nearly won prize to be a success at the game. But he took up a position beside the pianist and watched with amused interest. It was really just as good fun as being a participant. Gradually all were eliminated save the Southern Avenue boy and Louise. The music began again under Mrs. Martin's nimble fingers, and swelled in volume like the notes of a church organ. Then it dragged and paused just long enough to send Louise flying to the seat before it picked up the fateful melody. Suddenly, without hint of a finish in the throbbing, rapidly beating march, there came the end. Louise found herself standing with the high-wooden back toward her, while the Southern Avenue contestant yelled triumphantly from his throne. "Shucks!" said John in disgust. "Why didn't he let her have it? I would." Next came "A tisket, a tasket, a green and yellow basket." The fun grew fast and furious. No standing aloof in a corner of the room for the boys now. They enjoyed themselves too well, as each, in turn, chased, or was chased by some nimble-footed maiden around the circle. There followed "Thimble, thimble, who's got the thimble," and then Mrs. Martin's even voice: "Perhaps some boy will suggest a game." The winner of "Musical chairs," emboldened by his triumph, called out, "Kiss the pillow!" Little shrieks and cries of "Won't play!" arose from some of the girls. Others maintained a coy silence. Eventually the whole company joined; that is, all save John. He saw no fun in such pastime. What was the use of kneeling on a pillow and kissing, for example, homely Ella Black? Other boys might, if they wished. There was but one divinity worthy of his homage, and he would pay none of it to other maidens. So he followed Mrs. Martin into the dining-room, to that lady's great, though secret, merriment, and helped her arrange the plates and the spoons and napkins for the refreshments which were to follow later. The shouts from the parlor rose louder and louder.