The Ferris tea-table was a very cheery board, where good spirits of a most delightful and commendable kind flowed freely. The stiff and solemn Wilders, who "partook of the joys of life furtively," were inclined to be scandalized. Who cared? Not the Ferrises, and so, as has been said, that happy family enjoyed life despite their critical neighbors, and as they all gathered about the scarlet cloth that evening, they looked like a band that ought never to be broken. Fun and laughter ran so high that the dear, tired father forgot his legal cares and cracked his jokes. These were more or less bad,--but what matter so long as the children thought him "just the darlingest, funniest man in the world." No guest remained long in that genial atmosphere without discovering the source of this sunny family-life, and the true tendency of the current beneath all the froth and ripple of the nonsense. From father and mother, down to little Claire, it was a family of _friends_. That was the entire secret. There were no petty animosities, no bickerings; everything was open and above-board. Sincere and loving confidence bound them together. The girls were interested in all their father's cases in court; while he, in turn, listened to all their girlish performances with undivided attention. No new gown or hat was completely satisfactory until he had passed a favorable judgment. Here in his own small court he was "Judge Ferris," in that title's noblest sense. And the mother? She was best sister of all among her daughters,--"Mother and sister and queen,--all in one precious little woman," as Nan said, lifting her off her feet with a vigorous embrace. But the toast was getting cold, and the festivity began as the plates went 'round. The judicial wrinkles in Mr. Ferris's forehead were pulled out by those radiating from the outer corners of his kind eyes; the mother utterly lost her authority as the mirth rose to a gale; and nobody paid the slightest attention to Lou's request for the honey. "Nan," said Mrs. Ferris, laughing, "you are the only one who isn't behaving outrageously, so please attend to your sister's wants." But her observant eye did not leave her daughter's thoughtful face, and she asked, during a purely accidental lull in the chatter,--for she sympathized even with moods in her children:--"What is it, dear; what are you thinking about? You seem to be taking the butter-dish into your confidence--we are jealous." Nan drew her eyes away, and, giving her mother a bright look, she answered: "Why, I was thinking of the time, before we went to boarding-school, when Papa called Evelyn and me to him and asked us which we would rather have him do, scrimp us all our lives on advantages and education, so that he could lay up something for our future, or, instead of dowry or legacy, have our money as we went along, depending upon our ability for the future." "And we voted as a single man, didn't we?" said Evelyn.