"How did you guess that? I did give her a talk one day, when she happened to say that Shirley was the only one of the family who wrote to Forrest with any regularity. She was pretty angry with me for a day or two, but she came round, and now she writes once a fortnight. There ’s really more to that girl than you would think." "She is improving very much, I am sure," agreed his mother, warmly. "With a different early training, Olive would have been by now a much more lovable girl than she has seemed. But, happily, it ’s not too late to give her new ideals, and I think you have helped in that direction." "Ideals?" mused Peter. "I don’t think I have any of those--at least, I don’t call them by that name. Rules of the game--how will that do, instead? The foreman of Room 8 in a note-paper factory is n’t supposed to have ideals, is he?" "I don’t know about that. Suppose you ask the men and women under you. I fancy they would protest your ideals were pretty hard for them to live up to?" Peter laughed to himself. "Maybe they would. But they would n’t put it that way. ’The boss is a tough one to suit,’ they ’d say." "Call it what you will--rules of the game, if you like. But, as the children used to say, ’Peter Bell plays fair!’" "I hope he does. If he does n’t, it is n’t the fault of his trainer." And the gray eyes met the brown ones for an instant in a glance which said many things Peter could not have spoken. The days went on; June gave place to July; August heat melted into September mildness; and October, with its falling leaves, marked the end of the days of outdoor life lived from April to November in the little garden. "The twenty-fifth is Jane’s birthday," observed Nancy to Shirley, several days before that event. "We ’re wondering what to do in celebration." "Why, it’s mine, too!" cried Shirley. "How funny that we did n’t know it! We ought to celebrate it together." This remark was duly reported to Mrs. Bell, who said at once that they must invite Shirley over to have her birthday cake with Jane’s. But before this plan could be carried into effect, an invitation arrived from the big house, asking every member of the Bell household to be present at a small dinner of Shirley’s own planning. "This is the first time we ’ve all been asked over there together--it’s quite an occasion," declared Peter, on the evening of the twenty-fifth, as he stood waiting in the doorway for everybody to be ready. "I say," he exclaimed, "but we’re gorgeous!" And he fastened admiring eyes on his mother, who was dressed in a pale gray gown of her own making, and therefore of faultless effect. The quality was fine also, for Peter had looked after that. "Gorgeous does n’t seem exactly the word," Ross commented. "Demure but coquettish, I should call that gown."