"They didn't at all," said Gail. "You spoil men. If you always say, 'But he has to have it!' and then go tearing around getting it for him, why----" She shrugged her shoulders. "There are excellent biscuits a half-mile away, at the baker's in the village, and a motor-car outside." Joy laughed blithely. "But you see, I'm not used to a motor-car. I'm not motor-people at all.... Well, I suppose when you live with a poet you get in the habit of feeling you must do what people want of you. Grandfather was so great, you see, we felt it was--well, only polite. At least Grandmother brought me up that way." "I--I say! Was your grandfather _the_ Alton Havenith!" exclaimed Tiddy, opening his eyes widely. "The one in all the readers and cram-books and anthologies?" "Is." corrected Joy. "He's quite alive. Yes, that's Grandfather--and this is one of my dresses for his receptions," she added as an afterthought. "Good _gracious!_" breathed Tiddy reverently. They were at the canned peaches and pound-cake by this time. "I--I suppose you couldn't say any of his things?" he ended diffidently. He was evidently a worshiper. Joy felt quite herself by now, the old self-possessed Joy of the salon and recitations. "Well, not over the dessert," she said, laughing. "But as soon as dinner is over, if you want me to. There's one I say to a harp. There's a harp here." "Can you play a harp, too?" demanded Clarence, "as well as make biscuits? See here, Tiddy, you forget your position in life. You're a cook. Get thee to the kitchen, while Joy entertains us, who are the real quality folks." "Nonsense," smiled John. "We'll leave things as they are--can't we, Joy?" He led the way into the parlor and uncovered the harp for her. No one would have guessed by his demeanor that this was the first sign he had had of Joy's accomplishment--he was as matter-of-fact as possible about it. Only once he smiled across at her secretly, as if they had something private between them, as she asked him which thing he thought she had better say to begin with, and named one immediately. She flung back the chiffon that trailed down one slim, round arm, and, after a little preliminary tuning, began to play. It was "To Myrtilla at Seventeen" that John had suggested, and harp-music went well with it. Then she went on to more. She had never thought that Grandfather would help her this way! They kept her at the harp most of the evening. From Grandfather's poems she slid to some of Grandmother's old songs, plaintive old things of Civil War days. She was earnestly trying to make her guests and John's have as good a time as lay in her power, and she never thought about Gail, quiet and quite out of the center of the stage, at all. Tiddy, rapt and worshipful, clung close to her till the evening was over.