"Wall, then, old lady, if you _must_ know, here goes! but don't let it take your bref away," the girl replied with provoking deliberateness, and she crossed the room to where a small cracked mirror hung upon the wall; here she proceeded to re-arrange her hair, holding the pins in her mouth as she did so, tantalizing yet further the anxious mother. "The longer you wait, the better it'll seem, mammy," Miss Myra said after a few moments. The old lady made no reply; she always let "Myrie" have her own way; she had found by experience that it was not easy to do otherwise. At length even the critical taste of Miss Myra seemed satisfied with the vision she beheld in the little glass, for she turned away with a contented sigh, as she did so exclaiming, "I'se gwine to give a Thanksgiving party here, mammy, tomorrer night! And it'll be a swell affair, tew, take my wurd for it!" Then she put on her coat and hat, blew a kiss from the ends of her fingers toward the old negress yet sitting stupid with amazement in the rickety rocking-chair, and with another ringing, happy laugh went out into the storm. The sky was lead-colored, the wind blew fiercely and flung the snowflakes which were falling rapidly with spiteful force against the girl, until her heavy garments were soon hidden by a soft covering of white. But not even the fleecy crystals of snow had power to change the hue of the ebony face, and Miss Myra, who was a sensitive young woman, could not but feel a sensation of disgust as she thought, "I must look blacker than ever by contrast." On down the street she walked rapidly; here and there she paused long enough at some house to leave an invitation for the cook or coachman to attend her Thanksgiving party; but at the end of two hours this part of her preparation was ended. It was time, then, she decided, to turn her attention to further details of her audacious plan; and retracing her steps she soon found herself at banker Holmes' door. Here she entered, and for a long time busied herself with necessary preparations for the morrow's festivities. As twilight fell, she closed the house once more and walked rapidly homeward. That she had not been idle, the next night's feast would show. * * * * * Any one passing by Jim Heck's tumbled-down cottage Thanksgiving night would have been astonished at the number of gleaming lights flashing out upon the snow through the cracked and grimy window-panes, and would have stopped for a moment to listen to the sounds of revelry within doors. A fiddle squeaked in a lively, even if discordant fashion, while a banjo made frantic efforts to keep it company. There was a sound, too, as if of many feet dancing an old-fashioned break-down, which made the shanty fairly tremble under the unwonted strain upon its frail supports.