There was nobody to be seen downstairs in the old house, although lamps were lighted and the small rooms wore their usual air of home-likeness and order. Jane ran up the steep little staircase which led to the sleeping-rooms above. She understood that, as at the big house, the family were engaged in arraying themselves for the Townsend reception. She paused at the top of the stairs to listen and observe, for the various doors were all more or less ajar, and the usual atmosphere of friendly family comradeship gave her a little pang of homesickness. The first thing distinguishable was the fact that Peter seemed to be having a bad time with his neck-gear, and that his cousin, Ross McAndrew, was enjoying his perturbation of mind. "Either my neck is bigger than it was, or this neckband has shrunk." Peter’s growl rolled out into the tiny hall, and brought a dimple into Jane’s cheek as she listened. "Probably both catastrophes have happened." This was Ross’s voice in reply. "Anybody who has seen you stow away buckwheat cakes and maple-syrup all winter could n’t be surprised if your neck should take a seventeen collar this spring." "Seventeen nothing! Sixteen’s my size, and when I wear a bigger it ’ll be because---- O jiminy, I ’ve burst that buttonhole! What on earth am I to do now? I don’t own but one dress shirt that ’ll fit the barn-door opening in my white waistcoat." "Your mother ’ll sew that up on your back. I ’ll do it myself if you won’t howl at a prick or two." "Much obliged, but I know the general style of your repairs in a case like this. Nan ’ll do it, if she’s dressed," and Peter’s door swung open. Intent on reaching his younger sister, whose door was next beyond his own, he did not observe the figure at the head of the stairs in the shadow. He proceeded to perform a double tattoo upon Nancy’s door. "What’s the matter, Petey?" sounded an amiable voice from within. "Neckband of my shirt’s a wreck. Want you to come and splice the main brace." "All right--if you ’ll button me up the back. I can’t reach below the fourth button, and mother’s busy dressing, too. It’s so inconvenient having Janey married." "Give and take’s fair play," agreed Peter, as a charming young figure in pink-flowered muslin backed out of the door, both bare arms strenuously demonstrating that they could not reach below the fourth button. "Stand still now--no fidgeting. What on earth a girl wants her rigging fastened behind for is beyond me! If it must be, why not use buttons big enough to get hold of?" "Look out, don’t treat my buttonholes as you did your own, or I ’ll have to be sewed up, too." "All right--you’re done. Turn round and let’s see how you look in front. Good work! You ’re a stunner, and tremendously grown up, too, with your hair that way. Put it up the day you were eighteen, did n’t you?"