"Let me tell you what dear, sweet Cinderella did," interrupted Miss Tripp, tactfully seizing the opportunity to impress a moral lesson. "She forgave her unkind step-mother and her two rude, spiteful sisters, and gave them each a castle and many, many lovely gowns and jewels; and after that they loved Cinderella dearly--they couldn't help it. And all of them were good and happy for ever afterward." The children stared in round-eyed displeasures at this ethical but entirely tame denouement. "That isn't in my story-book," said Carroll positively. "Cinderella married the Prince, an' the fairy god-mother turned the bad sisters into rats, an' made 'em draw her carriage for ever an' ever." "Why, Carroll Brewster! I guess you made that up!" cried Doris. "The fairy god-mother didn't turn the bad sisters into anything; she jus' waved her wand an' turned Cinderella's ol' ragged clo'es into a lovely spangled weddin' dress, an' then----" "She turned 'em into rats," repeated Carroll doggedly. "An' I'm glad she did it." "She did not turn 'em into rats!" "She did!" "She didn't!" At this crucial moment entered Elizabeth, flushed and bright-eyed from a final encounter with the elemental forces in the kitchen. "Won't you all come out to dinner," she said prettily; "I'm sure you must have concluded that dining was among the lost arts by this time." "Not in this house," said Mr. Hickey gallantly. "This is one of the few--the very few places where one has the inestimable privilege of really dining. The balance of the time I merely take food from a strict sense of duty." "We're going to have ice-cream," whispered Carroll kindly. His father, who had caught the whisper, laughed outright. "He wants to give you something to look forward to, George," he said, as he tried the edge of his carving-knife. "If variety is the spice of life anticipation might be said to be its sweetening--eh? Will you have your beef rare or well-done, Miss Tripp?" "Well-done, if you please," murmured Miss Tripp, smiling happily as she squeezed Doris' chubby hand under the table-cloth. The little girl's eyes were very bright as she said, "I like to have you a-visitin', Aunty Evelyn." "Do you, dear? Well Aunty Evelyn is very, very happy to be here." "We were going to have rice-pudding for dessert if you hadn't come. I don't like rice-pudding; do you, Aunty Evelyn?" "Doris--dear!" Her mother's voice held reproof and warning; but the child with the specious sense of security inspired by the presence of strangers displayed her dimples demurely. "I didn't know it was naughty not to like rice-pudding," she said, in a small distinct voice. Mr. Hickey glanced thoughtfully across the table at Miss Tripp, who was smiling down at the little girl encouragingly. "Most of us are naughty when it comes to hankering after the unusual and the unattainable," he observed didactically. "I eat my rice-pudding contentedly enough most days of the year; but on the three hundred and sixty-fifth I----"