In a moment young Browne saw his mistake in Harry’s face, which was scarlet. He had wondered what his city friends would think of his uncle and aunt, of whom in his heart he was ashamed. Still if he had his house party he must have his uncle and aunt, too, and he had prepared the way somewhat by explaining that they were old-fashioned people of the pure New England type, but the best and kindest-hearted couple in the world. And here was Charlie Browne, the toniest one of the lot, calling them “old coves” and asking who they were. Rallying all the manhood there was in him, he answered curtly: “Those ‘old coves’ are my uncle and aunt, Deacon and Mrs. Stannard, the best people on earth, and worth half a dozen such cads as I am.” “By George, I’ve put my foot in it,” Charlie said to himself, but he was equal to the emergency. “Of course. I just glanced at them. I see now, and they are the counterparts of my grandfather and grandmother. I shall be glad to know them.” The deacon and his wife were in the hall by this time and being presented to the young men, who, having heard of Charlie’s blunder, smothered their laugh in time to be very gracious, declaring themselves delighted to meet Hal’s uncle and aunt, whom they hoped to know more intimately. Mrs. Stannard was completely won over, hoping they would be comfortable, and telling them if they wanted anything to call upon her. As she was leaving, her eye fell upon the two boxes marked “Glass.” “For pity’s sake,” she said, in a loud whisper to Harry. “If they hain’t brought their looking-glass with ’em! There warn’t an atom of need. I sent one over, you know, and could send another as well as not. Better not undo ’em if they are nicely packed.” If Hal’s face had been scarlet when his aunt was called an “old cove,” it was purple now. He knew what was in the boxes, and that the sight of it would shock the old lady, who was the strongest kind of a W. C. T. U. A lie in what he thought a good cause was nothing to him, and getting her gradually to the door, he said: “It is not a mirror. It is Warner’s Safe Cure, which Tom has to take.” “Oh,” his aunt rejoined, looking commiseratingly at Tom, who stood with his back to her, shaking with laughter. “Is it kidney? I have a splendid recipe for that, better than forty Warner’s; or maybe the doctor can give him something.” “Yes, yes. I’ll let you know,” Hal said, getting rid of her as soon as possible. Then he turned to his companions and found the hall empty. The mirror and kidney business had been the last straw, and the young men had hurried through the rear door of the hall out upon the grounds, where four of them were holding their sides, and “Peter the Great,” or “Little Pondy,” as he was more often called, was hopping up and down, first on one foot then upon the other, with his monocle, which had dropped from his eye, swinging in front of him like a pendulum.