"Yes, His Grand, it _is_ a party," said Ruth. "Now you may know, since they are here, and you cannot stop it. I invited them all myself, late this afternoon; and it is a molasses-candy-pulling; Dolly and I have arranged it. We did not tell you beforehand, because we knew you would say it was sticky." "Sticky it is," replied Mrs. Franklin. "Vilely sticky!" added Etheridge, emphatically. "And then we knew, also, that you would say that you could not get up a supper in so short a time," Ruth went on. "But Zoe has had her sister to help her, and ever so many nice things are all ready; chicken salad, for instance; and--listen, His Grand--a long row of macaroon custards, each cup with _three_ macaroons dissolved in madeira!" And then she intoned the family chant, Dolly joining in from her easy-chair: "Mother Franklin thinks, That General Jackson, Jared the Sixth, Macaroon custards, And Bishop Carew, Are per-_fec_-tion!" "What does she mean by that?" said Chase to Miss Billy. "Oh, it is only one of their jokes; they have so many! Dear Mrs. Franklin was brought up by her father to admire General Jackson, and Dolly and Ruth pretend that she thinks he is still at the White House. And Jared the Sixth means her son, you know. And they say she is fond of macaroon custards; that is, _fondish_," added Miss Billy, getting in the "ish" with inward satisfaction. "And she is much attached to Bishop Carew. But, for that matter, so are we all." "A Roman Catholic?" inquired Chase. "He is our bishop--the Episcopal Bishop of North Carolina," answered Miss Breeze, surprised. "Oh! I didn't know. I'm a Baptist myself. Or at least my parents were," explained Chase. The kitchen of L'Hommedieu was large and low, with the beams showing overhead; it had a huge fireplace with an iron crane. This evening a pot dangled from the crane; it held the boiling molasses, and Zoe, brilliant in a new scarlet turban in honor of the occasion, was stirring the syrup with a long-handled spoon. One of the easy-chairs had been brought from the parlor for Dolly. Malachi Hill seated himself beside her; he seemed uneasy; he kept his hat in his hand. "I did not know that Mr. Chase was to be here, Miss Dolly, or I would not have come," he said to his companion, in an undertone. "I can't think what to make of myself--I'm becoming a regular cormorant! Strange to say, instead of being satisfied with all he has given to the Mission, I want more. I keep thinking of all the good he might do in these mountains if he only knew the facts, and I have fairly to hold myself in when he is present, to keep from flattering him and getting further help. Yes, it's as bad as that! Clergymen, you know, are always accused of paying court to rich men, or rather to liberal men. For the first time in my life I understand the danger! It's a dreadful temptation--it is indeed. I really think, Miss Dolly, that I had better go."