“We will be very glad to meet any friend of yours, Mrs. Hudson,” she said; “but I am sorry you did not tell me before. It would have been easier to make arrangements.” “Certainly, I intended to do so,” observed Mrs. Hudson. “But the fact is, the matter slipped my mind.” We looked at one another in open admiration. Could human cheek be carried further? Mrs. _Bo_-gardus was coming to luncheon, and _the fact had slipped Mrs. Hudson’s mind_! Gradually the boarders faded from the room, leaving us to a hurried family council. It was Monday; there was cold roast left over from yesterday’s dinner, and a washerwoman in the kitchen. Yet, strangely enough, no one thought of rebellion or complaint. “Mrs. _Bo_-gardus,” murmured Haze, in a voice as nearly like Miss Brown’s as he could make it, “Mrs. _Bo_-gardus, you know, is coming to lunch!” And then, for no earthly assignable reason, we dropped into various receptacles along the way and melted and sobbed with mirth. Robin caught his knees in both arms and rolled over and over on the rug, a corner of the tablecloth stuffed in his mouth. Ernie began to caper and frisk madly about, hugging the bewildered and rebellious kitten. I sank helpless on the window-seat, and hid my face among the curtains. “Shut the door, Hazard,” gasped mother, as soon as she was able to articulate. “They mustn’t _hear_ us!” At which the gale began afresh. Somehow the situation struck us as irresistibly funny. “Well,” chuckled Hazard, weakly at last, “there’s no lark here for me. I shan’t meet her. I’ll be away at school.” “And I have a holiday to-day and to-morrow, because they are repairing the furnaces! How jolly!” cried Ernie. “Will she come in a hansom?” piped Robin, “or by fairy?” He meant the ferry; and these two modes of conveyance are the most elegant known to his youthful experience. “Yankee-doodle came to town, Riding in a han-som!”— parodied Haze. “And driven by Samuels,—with an _s_, if you please, Miss Brown,” mocked Ernie, wickedly. “Children! children!” warned mother. “We must be serious. It is Mrs. _Bo_-gardus, you know;—and I had planned cold veal for luncheon!” “Not even chicken?” pleaded Ernestine. The situation as one faced it loomed portentous. The psychic power of that Name was not to be lightly evaded. “Well,” said mother, at last, with a little sigh, “we must do the best we can. Elizabeth will help me in the kitchen, Rose is never the least good of a Monday, and Ernestine can dress Robin and superintend the setting of the table. Let me see, there will be six, seven, of us,—eliminating Haze and Mr. Hancock, who fortunately do not lunch at home. I like an even table so much better.” “Let me wait then, mother dear,” volunteered Ernie. “The way I do Sunday evenings when Rose is out. You know she never does serve things properly.” “You would not mind?” asked mother.