“I don't know, I'm sure,” said Annie. “I suppose Mrs. Munger.” A burst of music came from the dense shadow into which the group of evergreens at the bottom of the tennis-court deepened away from the glister of the electrics. There was a deeper hush; then a slight jarring and scraping of a chair beyond Mrs. Gerrish, who leaned across her children and said, “He's come, Annie--right through the parlour window!” Her voice was lifted to carry above the music, and all the people near were able to share the fact that righted Mrs. Gerrish in her own esteem. From the covert of the low pines in the middle of the scene Miss Northwick and Mr. Brandreth appeared hand in hand, and then the place filled with figures from other apertures of the little grove and through the artificial wings at the sides, and walked the minuet. Mr. Fellows, the painter, had helped with the costumes, supplying some from his own artistic properties, and mediævalising others; the Boston costumers had been drawn upon by the men; and they all moved through the stately figures with a security which discipline had given them. The broad solid colours which they wore took the light and shadow with picturesque effectiveness; the masks contributed a sense of mystery novel in Hatboro', and kept the friends of the dancers in exciting doubt of their identity; the strangeness of the audience to all spectacles of the sort held its judgment in suspense. The minuet was encored, and had to be given again, and it was some time before the applause of the repetition allowed the characters to be heard when the partners of the minuet began to move about arm in arm, and the drama properly began. When the applause died away it was still not easy to hear; a boy in one of the trees called, “Louder!” and made some of the people laugh, but for the rest they were very orderly throughout. Toward the end of the fourth act Annie was startled by a child dashing itself against her knees, and breaking into a gurgle of shy laughter as children do. “Why, you little witch!” she said to the uplifted face of Idella Peck. “Where is your father?” “Oh, somewhere,” said the child, with entire ease of mind. “And your hat?” said Annie, putting her hand on the curly bare head--“where's your hat?” “On the ground.” “On the ground--where?” “Oh, I don't know,” said Idella lightly, as if the pursuit bored her. Annie pulled her up on her lap. “Well, now, you stay here with me, if you please, till your papa or your hat comes after you.” “My--hat--can't--come--after--me!” said the child, turning back her head, so as to laugh her sense of the joke in Annie's face. “No matter; your papa can, and I'm going to keep you.” Idella let her head fall back against Annie's breast, and began to finger the rings on the hand which Annie laid across her lap to keep her. “For goodness gracious!” said Mrs. Savor, “who you got there, Miss Kilburn?” “Mr. Peck's little girl.” “Where'd she spring from?”