They entered the large drawing-room, where old and young were soon gathered for tea. The children, who had dined early, sat down to a well-spread table, at which Miss Sophia presided; the elder persons were standing or sitting in different parts of the room. Ellen, not being hungry, had leisure to look about her, and her eyes soon wandered from the tea-table in search of her old friends. Alice was sitting by Mrs. Marshman, talking with two other ladies; but Ellen smiled presently, as she caught her eye from the far end of the room, and got a little nod of recognition. John came up just then to set down his coffee-cup, and asked her what she was smiling at. "That's city manners," said William Gillespie, "to laugh at what's going on." "I have no doubt we shall all follow the example," said John Humphreys, gravely, "if the young gentleman will try to give us a smile." The young gentleman had just accommodated himself with an outrageously large mouthful of bread and sweetmeats, and if ever so well-disposed, compliance with the request was impossible. None of the rest, however, not even his sister, could keep their countenances, for the eye of the speaker had pointed and sharpened his words; and William, very red in the face, was understood to mumble, as soon as mumbling was possible, that "he wouldn't laugh unless he had a mind to," and a threat to "do something" to his tormentor. "Only not eat me," said John, with a shade of expression in his look and tone which overcame the whole party, himself and poor William alone retaining entire gravity. "What's all this? what's all this? — what's all this laughing about?" said old Mr. Marshman, coming up. "This young gentleman, Sir," said John, "has been endeavouring — with a mouthful of arguments — to prove to us the inferiority of city manners to those learned in the country." "Will," said the old gentleman, glancing doubtfully at William's discomfited face; then added, sternly, "I don't care where your manners were learned, Sir, but I advise you to be very particular as to the sort you bring with you here. Now, Sophia, let us have some music." He set the children a-dancing, and as Ellen did not know how, he kept her by him, and kept her very much amused, too, in his own way; then he would have her join in the dancing, and bade Ellen Chauncey give her lessons. There was a little backwardness at first, and then Ellen was jumping away with the rest, and thinking it perfectly delightful, as Miss Sophia's piano rattled out merry jigs and tunes, and little feet flew over the floor as light as the hearts they belonged to. At eight o'clock the young ones were dismissed, and bade good-night to their elders; and, pleased with the kind kiss Mrs. Marshman had given her, as well as her little granddaughter, Ellen went off to bed very happy.