She stopped in an art shop on her way back, and studied little menu cards and favors, purchasing a roll of pink crêpe paper, some green and yellow tissue paper, wire, and cardboard. As soon as she had finished the dessert for dinner she hurried to get out scissors, paste, pencils, and went eagerly to her dainty work. Before Louise and Harry came home from school she had fashioned eight dainty little candy baskets covered with ruffled pink paper, and on each slender thread-like pink handle there nodded a lovely curly pink rose with a leaf and a bud, all made of the paper, with their little green wire stems twining about the pink basket. Eight little blue birds, with their claws and tails so balanced that they would hover on the rim of a water glass, and bearing in their bills a tiny place card, also lay on the table beside the baskets, the product of Cornelia’s skilful brush and colors. The children went into ecstasies over them and even Harry began to warm to the affair. “I guess _she’ll_ see we’re fashionable all right,” he swaggered scornfully. “I guess she’ll see she’s got to go some to be good enough to speak to our Carey. Say, what did the Kendall girl say? Is she coming? Say, she’s a peach, isn’t she? I knew she’d be game all right. Did you tell her ’bout the other one? You oughtta. She might not like it.” “I told her as much as was necessary. You needn’t worry about her, she’s pure gold.” “You’re talking!” said the boy gruffly, and went whistling upstairs to change his clothes. But Louise stood still, enraptured before the little paper baskets and birds. Suddenly she turned a radiant face to her sister, and in a voice that was almost expressive of awe she said softly: “But it’s going to be real; isn’t it, Nellie? I never knew we could be real. I never knew you could do things like that. It’s like the pictures in the magazines, and it’s like Mrs. Van Kirk’s luncheon. Hazel and I went there on an errand to get some aprons for the Red Cross for our teacher at school, and we had to wait in the dining-room for ten minutes while she hunted them up. The table was all set for a luncheon she was going to give that day, and afterwards we saw about it in the paper; and she had baskets and things just like that.” Cornelia stooped and kissed the eager young face tenderly, and wondered how she could have borne to be separated all these years from her little sister and brother, and not have known how satisfactorily they were growing up. “What are you going to put into them?” asked the little girl. “Well I haven’t decided yet,” said Cornelia. “Probably salted almonds, don’t you think?” “Oh, but they’re awful expensive!” “Not if you make them, dear. You and I will make them. I’ve done tons of them at college for feasts. It’s easy; just blanch them and brown them in a pan with butter and salt or oil and salt.” “Oh, can you?” More awe in the voice. “And what will we have to eat?”