"That went well!" said Polly, when they had reached their closing tableau, with John Smith on his knees, kissing the French kid shoe of Pocahontas. "I do hope it will go all right next week, for mamma says we may each invite four people, and I don't want to fail." "We're going to have it here, after all, are we?" asked Alan. "Yes. Florence wanted it, but her mother wasn't willing, so we're going to use the library for a stage, and put the people in the parlor. It will hold ever so many, that way. Tuesday night we're going to rehearse it there." "I wish we could try our parts there, now," said Alan. "Why not do it?" asked Polly. "We can, just as well as not, for there isn't a soul in the house but ourselves. Come on." And she led the way to the head of the stairs. "Sure there isn't anybody there?" asked. Alan. "Nobody, I am certain." "All right, here goes, then." And followed by Polly, Alan raced down the stairs, singing at the top of his lungs,-- "'Oh, my wife and my dear children! Oh, the deaths they both did die! One got lost, and one got drownded, And one got choked on pumpkin pie!' Hi-yi-whoop-_ee_!" he added, with a threatening war-whoop, as he opened the parlor door and dashed in. There, side by side on the sofa, sat Aunt Jane and Mr. Solomon Baxter, looking up in surprise at the vision which had suddenly burst in upon their quiet conversation. The children stopped abruptly, just across the threshold, and gazed in speechless horror, first at Aunt Jane and her caller, then at each other. For a moment, no one made any attempt to speak. Alan was the first to recover his senses. "Good afternoon, Miss Roberts," he said, advancing, hat in hand, with one of his peculiarly bright, attractive smiles. "I hope we haven't disturbed you, but Polly said there wasn't anybody here." Aunt Jane relaxed nothing of her rigidity, and Mr. Baxter answered for her, in an excited, nervous tone, while he waved his cane on which he had hung his stiff black hat, as if in grotesque imitation of his own long, lean body,-- "What in the world are you children doing, anyway, making such a noise? Polly--that's your name, isn't it?--you look as if you'd just come out of the mad-house." In her astonishment at finding the parlor occupied, Polly had forgotten all about her remarkable gown, her ruddy countenance, and her towering headgear. Now, at the sudden recollection of it, she blushed until it was visible even under the chalk, and gave a vigorous pull, in the hope of removing her coronet, while she said penitently,--"I truly didn't know you were here, Aunt Jane. We were going to rehearse part of the play, and--" "That will do, Polly," interrupted Aunt Jane stonily; "you needn't say any more about it. Go and get me a glass of water. Solo--Mr. Baxter, wouldn't you like some, too?" "Calls him Solo--Mr. Baxter, does she!" remarked Alan, as the door closed behind the culprits. "Depend on it, Poll, there's something up in that quarter."