They stared like schoolboys caught plotting mischief and looked so guilty that she took pity on them, innocently imagining the brothers were indulging in a little sentiment on this joyful occasion, so she added quickly, as she beckoned, without crossing the threshold, “Women not allowed, of course, but both of you dear Odd Fellows are wanted, for Aunt Plenty begs we will have an old-fashioned contra dance, and I'm to lead off with Uncle Mac. I chose you, sir, because you do it in style, pigeon wings and all. So, please come and Phebe is waiting for you, Uncle Alec. She is rather shy you know, but will enjoy it with you to take care of her.” “Thank you, thank you!” cried both gentlemen, following with great alacrity. Unconscious, Rose enjoyed that Virginia reel immensely, for the pigeon wings were superb, and her partner conducted her through the convolutions of the dance without a fault, going down the middle in his most gallant style. Landing safely at the bottom, she stood aside to let him get his breath, for stout Uncle Mac was bound to do or die on that occasion and would have danced his pumps through without a murmur if she had desired it. Leaning against the wall with his hair in his eyes, and a decidedly bored expression of countenance, was Mac, Jr., who had been surveying the gymnastics of his parent with respectful astonishment. “Come and take a turn, my lad. Rose is fresh as a daisy, but we old fellows soon get enough of it, so you shall have my place,” said his father, wiping his face, which glowed like a cheerful peony. “No, thank you, sir I can't stand that sort of thing. I'll race you round the piazza with pleasure, Cousin, but his oven is too much for me,” was Mac's uncivil reply as he backed toward the open window, as if glad of an excuse to escape. “Fragile creature, don't stay on my account, I beg. I can't leave my guests for a moonlight run, even if I dared to take it on a frosty night in a thin dress,” said Rose, fanning herself and not a bit ruffled by Mac's refusal, for she knew his ways and they amused her. “Not half so bad as all this dust, gas, heat, and noise. What do you suppose lungs are made of?” demanded Mac, ready for a discussion then and there. “I used to know, but I've forgotten now. Been so busy with other things that I've neglected the hobbies I used to ride five or six years ago,” she said, laughing. “Ah, those were times worth having! Are you going in for much of this sort of thing, Rose?” he asked with a disapproving glance at the dancers. “About three months of it, I think.” “Then good-bye till New Year.” And Mac vanished behind the curtains.