“Yes, and broad white collars, and sort of Norfolky jackets, and broad-brimmed hats,” added Tilly. “With a feather?” suggested Betty. “Oh, no; not a feather,—I think,—that isn’t Puritanish. But a buckle,—I think,—well, anyway we can look up pictures, and see.” “Yes,” agreed Betty, “and I’ll fix up Jack’s clothes. Mother’ll help me. Then we’ll have the feast of the real old-timey kind. Baked beans, you know,—and doughnuts, and cider,—” “And pumpkin-pies,—” “And nuts and gingerbread;—it will be lovely!” “Well, I like it,” said Tilly, a little hesitatingly, “but I don’t know about a dress. Aunt won’t help me,—I’m sure;—and I simply can’t make one myself.” “I’ll help you,” said Betty, “and I’m sure Mother’ll make you one, if you can’t get one any other way. But perhaps you could borrow one. The old Adams ladies have lots of old-fashioned clothes.” “Yes, maybe I could,” and Tilly’s eyes brightened at this way out of her difficulty. “And I can make brown bread for the feast. That’s old-fashioned.” “Oh, I’ll provide all the supper,” said Betty, “because it’s my party. And afterward, we’ll have old-fashioned dances, with a fiddler to call out the figures.” “I don’t believe the Puritans danced,” said Tilly. Betty’s face fell. “Well, I don’t care to keep it too Puritanic,” she said. “We’ll just have it as old-fashioned as we like, and have the rest any way we want it.” “Yes, that’s the best,” said May. “But your table must look old-fashioned,—with candles, you know; Aunt’ll lend you her old brass candlesticks if you want them.” “Yes, I do; and I know where I can borrow some old blue dishes and pewter platters.” “Oh, it will be lovely fun!” sighed May. “How many are you going to ask?” “About twenty. I don’t believe Jack will care much about dressing up—he hates it; but I’ll coax him to. Well, come on, May, we must go and invite the others. Don’t worry about your dress, Tilly. If you can’t borrow one, Mother and I will fit you out.” “Thanks. You’re a dear, Betty; I wish you’d let me make brown bread for you, though. I can make it to perfection.” “I’ll tell you what, Betty,” said May, “why don’t you have a sort of ‘Harvest Home.’ They’re lovely and picturesque. You make a great big pile of things like cabbages and pumpkins and potatoes, and decorate it with corn husks and things; and then, don’t you see, we can all bring something for it, and afterward we can give the eatables to the poor people in ‘The Hollow.’ And Tilly can donate some brown bread to them, too.” “That’s a fine idea,” said Betty; “we’ll ask everybody to bring something for the Harvest Home, and then the next day we can all make the round of The Hollow in the big box-sleigh.” “Yes, I know some families down there who would be more than glad to get things like that,” said Tilly.