“We’ll have everything all ready beforehand, so that the serving will be easy,” went on the elder sister. “The butter and water and fruit cocktail will be on the table. We can fill the soup cups and keep them in the warming oven; and you and Harry can get up quietly; remove the fruit glasses, and bring on the soup cups. You see I’ve been thinking it all out. I’ve planned to buy two more wire shelves to fit into the oven. You know there are grooves to move them higher or lower; and I find that, if we use the lowest groove for the first, there will be room to set the eight plates in there; and we’ll just have everything all served on the plate ready, the little cutlet with gravy, the creamed potatoes, and the spinach. Then, if we light only one burner and turn it low, and perhaps leave the door open a little,—I’ll have to experiment,—I think they will keep hot without getting dry or crusty on the top, just for that little while. The only thing is, you’ll have to be tremendously careful not to drop one getting them out; they’ll be hot, you know, and you’ll have to use a cloth to take them out. Just think, if you dropped one, there wouldn’t be enough to go around.” Louise giggled, and squeezed her sister’s hand. “O Nellie, isn’t it going to be just packs of fun? I won’t drop one; indeed I won’t; but if I should I just know I’d laugh out loud, it would be so funny, all that grand dinner-party in there acting stylish, and those potatoes and spinach and meat sitting there on the floor! But don’t you worry; if I did drop ’em, I’d pick ’em up again, and take that plate for myself. Our kitchen floor’s clean, anyway. When do we bring in the salad?” “Oh, we’ll just have that on the kitchen table by the door, ready. And then, while the people are finishing, you and Harry can slip out and get the sherbet dished out. Do you think you two can manage it?” “Oh, sure! Harry does it at school every time we have an entertainment. The teacher always gets him to do it ’cause he gets it out so nice, and not messy, she says. Shall we cut the cake beforehand, or what?” “Oh, no; the cake will be on the table with the candles lit when we come into the dining-room; and when the time comes, Carey will have to blow out the candles and cut his own cake.” And so they planned the pretty festival, and almost forgot the unloved cause of it all, poor, silly little Clytie Amabel Dodd. Cornelia’s hardest task was writing the letter of invitation to the guest she dreaded most of all. After tearing up several attempts and struggling with the sentences for half an hour, it was finally finished, and read: “MY DEAR MISS DODD, “We are having a little surprise for my brother Carey on his birthday next Thursday, the twenty-fifth, and would be very glad if you will come to dinner at six o’clock to meet a few friends. Kindly say nothing to Carey about it, and please let us know if we may expect you. “Looking forward to meeting you, I am,