Aunt Isabel's table was well patronized. It seemed to Missy that most of the men present tried to get “served” here. Perhaps it was because they admired Aunt Isabel. Missy couldn't have blamed them for that, because none of the other Congregational ladies was half as pretty. To-night Aunt Isabel had on a billowy pale-blue organdy, and she looked more like an angel than ever. An ethereally radiant, laughing, vivacious angel. And whenever she moved near you, you caught a ghostly whiff of that delicious perfume. (Missy now knows Aunt Isabel got it from little sachet bags, tucked away with her clothes, and from an “atomizer” which showered a delicate, fairy-like spray of fragrance upon her hair.) There was one young man, who was handsome in a dark, imperious way, who hung about and ate so much ice-cream that Missy feared lest he should have an “upset” to-morrow. Also, there was another persevering patron for whom she surmised, with modest palpitation, Aunt Isabel might not be the chief attraction. The joy of being a visiting girl was begun! This individual was a talkative, self-confident youth named Raleigh Peters. She loved the name Raleigh--though for the Peters part she didn't care so much. And albeit, with the dignity which became her advancing years, she addressed him as “Mr. Peters,” in her mind she preferred to think of him as “Raleigh.” Raleigh, she learned (from himself), was the only son of a widowed mother and, though but little older than Missy, had already started making his own way by clerking in Uncle Charlie's store. He clerked in the grocery department, the prosperity of which, she gathered, was largely due to his own connection with it. Some day, he admitted, he was going to own the biggest grocery store in the State. He was thrillingly independent and ambitious and assured. All that seemed admirable, but--if only he hadn't decided on groceries! “Peters' Grocery Store!” Missy thought of jousting, of hawking, of harping, customs which noble gentlemen used to follow, and sighed. But Raleigh, unaware that his suit had been lost before it started, accompanied them all home. “All” because the dark and imperiously handsome young man went along, too. His name was Mr. Saunders, and Missy had now learned he was a “travelling man” who came to Pleasanton to sell Uncle Charlie merchandise; he was also quite a friend of the family's, she gathered, and visited them at the house. When they reached home, Mr. Saunders suggested stopping in a minute to see how Uncle Charlie was. However, Uncle Charlie, it turned out, was already in bed. “But you needn't go yet, anyway,” said Aunt Isabel. “It's heavenly out here on the porch.” “Doesn't the hour wax late?” demurred Mr. Saunders. “Wax late!”--What quaint, delightful language he used! “Oh, it's still early. Stay a while, and help shake off the atmosphere of the festival--those festivals bore me to death!”