Even before daylight had fully found its way into Knight Sutton Hall, there was many a note of preparation, and none clearer or louder than those of the charade actors. Beatrice was up long before light, in the midst of her preparations, and it was not long after, as, lamp in hand, she whisked through the passages, Frederick’s voice was heard demanding whether the Busy Bee had turned into a firefly, and if the paste was made wherewith Midas was to have his crown stuck with gold paper. Zealous indeed were the workers, and heartily did old Judith wish them anywhere else, as she drove them, their lamps, their paste, and newspaper, from one corner of the study to the other, and at last fairly out into the hall, threatening them with what Missus would say to them. At last grandmamma came down with a party of neat little notes in her hand, to be immediately sent off by Martin and the cart to Allonfield, and Martin came to the door leading to the kitchen regions to receive his directions. “O how lucky!” cried Queen Bee, springing up. “The cotton velvet for the ears! I’ll write a note in a second!” Then she paused. “But I can’t do it without Henrietta, I don’t know how much she wants. Half a yard must do, I suppose; but then, how to describe it? Half a yard of donkey-coloured velvet! It will never do; I must see Henrietta first!” “Have not you heard her bell?” said Fred. “No, shall I go and knock at the door? She must be up by this time.” “You had better ask Bennet,” said Fred; “she sometimes gets up quietly, and dresses herself without Bennet, if mamma is asleep, because it gives her a palpitation to be disturbed in the morning.” Bennet was shouted for, and proved not to have been into her mistress’s room. The charade mania was not strong enough to make them venture upon disturbing Mrs. Frederick Langford, and to their great vexation, Martin departed bearing no commission for the asinine decorations. About half an hour after, Henrietta made her appearance, as sorry as any one that the opportunity had been lost, more especially as mamma had been broad awake all the time, and the only reason she had not rung the bell was, that she was not ready for Bennet. As usual, she was called an incorrigible dawdle, and made humble confession of the same, offering to do all in her power to make up for the morning’s laziness. But what would Midas be without his ears?