"Thank you, Aunt," said Wythie. "Hester writes that there will be more than a car full of people from New York to-morrow--Oh, I do so hope the good weather will hold out!" "My almanac says that we shall have fair weather for six days; this is the third day," said Aunt Azraella confidently; she pinned her faith to a certain venerable publication, withstanding frequent failures on the part of her prophet. "The good weather began with the change of the moon, which occurred at the right hour--shortly after midnight; this weather will hold." "If your almanac won't play us false this time I will ask no more of it," said Rob. "It never fails," said Aunt Azraella with generous oblivion to facts. "If it makes what seem like mistakes sometimes it is owing to local currents, which cannot be foretold. Is your mother up-stairs? I want to see her and Charlotte." "They are together, in Cousin Charlotte's room. You look serious, Aunt Azraella," said Rob. "I feel serious, and I want to consult them about something serious," returned her aunt. "After this excitement is over you will know what it is about; I shall be guided by their advice." "The best advice we ever got was from those two ladies, Aunt Azraella," said Rob. "I am sure you will not look serious after you get it." "You don't know what you are talking about," returned Mrs. Winslow moving majestically away. Aunt Azraella's victoria brought up Hester, her cousin and Basil; Bruce and Bartlemy arrived on foot, and all the performers, except little Polly Flinders, went up to the Silsbys for their final dress rehearsal that night. They came back to the little grey house so excited by its result that there was no checking the flood of chatter till past one o'clock. "This was Eleventh Night," as Prue suggested, and Twelfth Night, _the_ night, followed as quickly as it could, coming into weather that fully justified Aunt Azraella's almanac-maker. Crisp, cold, clear, January sunshine--there could not be better weather for a revel. The day sped in a whirl of excitement, a delightful day to all but Lydia's orderly soul. She could hardly be expected to approve it, since it included no meal at a normal time, and this disturbance was, besides, the prelude to a dance, which Lydia regarded with horror. After a supper at half past five which none of the gavotteers, as Rob called them, wanted in the least, Aunt Azraella's carriage came to take them up to Mrs. Silsby's. Frances flew out to meet them, and the flushed faces of the other three girl performers beamed on them as they descended. Mrs. Grey superintended the dressing-room with four maids to assist her. It was a trying office, with eight girls chattering like magpies, and eighty things to be done at once, admitting of no delay. The concert that was to precede the gavotte was to be costumed fantastically, and when the girls were ready one could hardly have said whether the picture they presented, huddled, laughing together, was prettier or funnier.