“Oh, yes, this is a gala occasion. Put on your very flossiest.” Ellen, eager to wear the white crêpe, lost no time in getting into it, and appeared promptly to exhibit herself to her hostess. “What a lovely dress!” she exclaimed. “You look perfectly dear in it. Did you get it in Marshville?” “Well, yes, I did and I didn’t. Do you know a Mary West, from Baltimore, Mrs. Austin?” “Never heard of the lady. Who is she?” “I don’t know, and thought perhaps you could tell me.” Then she related the tale of the mysterious box, giving Miss Rindy’s theory regarding the sender. Mrs. Austin was interested at once. “Whoever she is, she has mighty good taste,” she declared. “I noticed what a swagger coat and hat you had as soon as I set my eyes on you, and that pretty wool dress you have been wearing is quite out of the common,—nothing you could pick up on a bargain counter. Come along, honey child, I am very proud of you. Phil is pacing the studio like a caged lion, so we’d better not tarry.” They took their meal at a French pastry shop near by, and then went on to Mr. Barstow’s studio which was not far away. They found their host dancing around in great excitement. He was a little wiry man with a bald head, dark eyes, large nose, and humorous mouth. He grabbed Ellen’s hands and danced her across the floor to where a table was littered with paper and string. “Come, help me tie up my presents,” he cried. “I haven’t them near ready. You come, too, Connie. Phil can amuse himself by tying them on the tree as we get them done. He is so tall we won’t need a stepladder. Reed Marshall and I trimmed the tree last night. Know Reed? Nice boy. He went out a while ago, but he’ll be back; said he had to go, though I did expect he would help me with these things.” They all fell to work, and by the time the first guest arrived the last package was tied on the tree. Then the company trooped in, singly, in couples, and in groups till the big studio was gay with bright costumes and lively with chatter. The fun began when Mr. Barstow mounted the model stand and started to dance an Irish jig, which he did with great agility. Then Mr. Austin’s tall form made its way through the crowd, and, standing by the dancer, this man with the dreamy eyes and solemn face sang an absurd Irish song which nobody could possibly have suspected him of being able to do. The performance brought forth shouts of laughter and wild applause. Scarcely had these two performers stepped down than some one dashed into the room, turned a handspring upon the model stand, then stood grinning at the company and rolling his eyes comically. He was blackened up and wore the exaggerated dress of a negro minstrel. Presently he burst out into a weird melody with fanciful words and peculiar rhythm; this he followed with a double shuffle. It was all so cleverly done that some could scarce believe it was not a veritable negro before them.