Pansy Potts had declared herself quite able to accomplish the freezing process; but, as she was about to begin, she announced in tragic tones that the extra ice hadn’t come.

“Oh!” exclaimed Patty, in desperation, “everything seems to go wrong about that dessert!  Well, Pansy, you use what ice there is, and I’ll telephone for some more, right away.”

But when Patty called up the ice company she found that their office was closed for the day, and, hanging up the receiver with an angry little jerk, she turned to find her father smiling at her.

“I see you have begun to amuse me,” he said; “but never mind about my entertainment now, Puss; run away and get dressed, or you won’t be ready to receive your guests.  It’s half-past one now.”

“Oh, papa, is it so late?  And I have to get into that new frock!”

“Well, scuttle along, then, and make all the haste you can.”

Patty scuttled, but during the process of making all the haste she could, she very nearly lost her temper.

The new white frock was complicated; the broad white hair-ribbons were difficult to tie; and, as it was the first time that she had made a toilette in her new home, it is not at all surprising that many useful or indispensable little articles were missing.

“Pansy,” she called, as she heard the girl in the dining-room, “do, for mercy’s sake, come up and help me.  I can’t find my shoe-buttoner, and I can’t button the yoke of this crazy dress without it.”

Pansy came to the rescue, and just as the Elliott family came in at the front gate, Patty completely attired, but very flushed and breathless from her rapid exertions—­flew downstairs and tucked her arm through her father’s, as he stood in the hall.

“I’m here,” she said demurely, and trying to speak calmly.

“Oh, so you are,” he said.  “I thought a white cashmere whirlwind had struck me.  I hope you didn’t hurry yourself.”

“Oh, no!” said Patty, meeting his merry smile with another.  “I just dawdled through my dressing to kill time.”

“Yes, you look so,” said her father, and just then the doorbell rang.

“Oh, papa,” cried Patty, her eyes dancing with excitement, “isn’t it just grand!  That’s the first ring at our own doorbell, our own doorbell, you know; and hasn’t it a musical ring?  And now it will be answered by our own Pansy.”

Without a trace of the hurry and fluster that had so affected her young mistress, Pansy Potts, in neat white cap and apron, opened the door to the guests.

Patty nudged her father’s arm in glee, as they noted the correct demeanour of their own waitress, and then all such considerations were drowned in the outburst of enthusiasm that accompanied the entrance of the Elliotts.  The younger members of the family announced themselves with wild war-whoops of delight, and the older ones, though less noisy, were no less enthusiastic.