"Worthy of repetition," returned Edgeway, brightly. "And now, good friends, I'm going to make you all fairly jump with surprise." "What now?" mildly interrogated Miss May, fastening her sharp little gray eyes upon him, while the rest smiled without comment, so accustomed were they to his jokes. "Miss Emmit has consented to let me escort her just once to the Hudson-Fulton Celebration. Just think of her indulging in such frivolity!" All eyes turned to Betty with mild amusement. "You will certainly pay for the pleasure, by being tormented by the giver," remarked Mr. Mellor. "And, ladies, since the spirit is in the air, you must promise to give me the pleasure," he added, turning with courtesy to the two other ladies. "Bravo!" exclaimed Edgeway. "The true patriotic spirit stirreth the masses!" During the next week, the celebration was the main topic of conversation at the table. The spirit of patriotism pervaded the city. Betty's anticipation was full of delight. New York suddenly awakened from its slumbering pride in its wonderful history of achievement. All classes, rich and poor, seemed enthused to the point of childish glee. The preparations were marvelous. Groups of men and women stopped to point to the million tiny bulbs, everywhere being prepared to make New York the gayest illuminated city of the world. Children chatted, as they went to school, each longing to be one of the favored to march in the great children's carnival, something long to be remembered as one of the gala days of their youth. The days sped by rapidly, and the great festival opened with unprecedented enthusiasm. On the Sunday morning, Betty and Mr. Edgeway went to church. Coming home, Betty asked him if he enjoyed it. "Yes, indeed," he replied. "I'm thankful for a few hour's relief from Sunday's stupid monotony!" "You have found Sunday stupid then?" "Most abominably, I always do. Everyone parades the streets, stiff to the neck with Sunday clothes and faces to match, that look as though they were starched for the occasion. I always hated Sunday, from the day my mother put on my stiff collars and made me sit straight and solemn in the family pew for two hours!" He was evidently in a dissatisfied mood. "The impressions of your childhood were unfortunate," she said gravely. "Mine were so different. I suppose it was no virtue in me to have loved Sunday, arid looked for its coming. But today! Any church should be interesting, even to you. All are celebrating the event, and you could hear something attractive almost anywhere."