Mrs. Radigan was charming. There was a smile and a hearty, whole-souled hand-shake for all, and as they came trooping past her in their Indian garb she had a word of admiration for every one of them. Pearl Veal as Minnehaha, and myself as Hiawatha, each got a resounding kiss, which in my case disarranged my deep bronze complexion. And as for J. Madison Mudison! Pearl and I were at Mrs. Radigan's side when he arrived, and we noted that she held his hand very long and seemed to say nothing. But he might well have set anybody speechless. We should never have known him had not the giant trapper at the door, the pride of the servants' hall, announced "Mr. Madison Mudison, the great medicine-man." He was simply hideous. His face was painted all the colors of the rainbow, and from his neck down he was festooned with stuffed snakes and carried a vicious-looking war-club. When he had made his obeisance he stared open-mouthed at the marvellous alteration of the gallery, all hung as it was with hides and scalps, weapons, and trophies of the chase. "Jolly," was his comment--"awfully jolly!" Then, shouldering his weapon, he gathered in Miss Veal and went on into the ballroom. To go into the ballroom was like stepping into some primeval forest, so artfully had Mr. Coppe carried out his scheme. You seemed in an open place among the trees, a glade, with a green waxed floor underfoot, a starry sky--twinkling stars--overhead and about you the receding woods, whose unreality you only realized when you bumped into the wall. To carry out the illusion, the whistler of a downtown music-hall was hidden in the ceiling, and made a noise like a bird. There was a little stage at one end, and half of the Skimphony Orchestra was concealed in the conservatory, playing divine music. A remarkable scene! The place was packed with Indians, all laughing and chatting till the noise they made sounded like a knitting-mill, and among them, his long rifle over his shoulders, moved Captain John Smith, nobly playing his part as host to the distinguished company. Miss Bumpschus was there and she almost fainted when I sailed up with J. Madison Mudison, who made a threatening demonstration with his awful spiked club. I must confess I think Miss Bumpschus as an Indian looked better than usual, though her spectacles might have been dispensed with. Still, I suppose she wanted to see what was going on. Mrs. Bobbie Williegilt, on the other hand, was perfect, even to the papoose which she carried on her back. This infant caused some excitement by falling off on the floor later in a dance, for she had failed to explain to some of the dowagers that it was only imitation. Marian Speechless as an Apache maiden, Dewberry Lamb as Red Cloud, and Arthur Slaughterblock-Jones as a youth, were especially excellent in their make-up. By eleven o'clock you might have fancied yourself back in the seventeenth century, sporting in the Virginia forests with Pocahontas and her people.