Mrs. Trent realized that it would be useless to make the party a surprise, for she had to have Dorian’s help in hanging out the lanterns, and he would necessarily see the unusual activity in front room and kitchen.  Moreover, Dorian, unlike Uncle Zed, had not lost track of his birthdays, and especially this one which would make him a full-fledged citizen of these United States.

The little party chatted on general topics for some time until Mrs. Trent, in big white apron, announced that supper was ready, and would they all come right in.  Mrs. Trent always served her refreshments at the regular supper time and not near midnight, for she claimed that people of regular habits, which her guests were, are much better off by not having those habits broken into.

“Are we all here?” she asked, scanning them as they passed in.  “All but Carlia,” she announced.  “Where’s Carlia?”

No one knew.  Someone proffered the explanation that she was usually late as she had so many chores to do, at which the Bishop’s wife shook her head knowingly, but said nothing.

“Well, she’ll be along presently,” said Mrs. Trent.  “Sit down all of you.  Bishop, will you ask the blessing?”

The hostess, waitress, and cook all combined in the capable person of Mrs. Trent, sat at the table with her party.  Everything which was to be served was on the table in plain sight, so that all could nicely guage their eating to various dishes.  When all were well served and the eating was well under way, Mrs. Trent said: 

“Brothers and sisters, this is Dorian’s birthday party.  He has been a mighty good boy, and so—­”

“Mother,” interrupted the young man.

“Now, you never mind—­you be still.  Dorian is a good boy, and I want all of you to know it.”

“We all do, Sister Trent,” said the Bishop; “and it is a good thing to sometimes tell a person of his worthiness to his face.”

“But if we say more, he’ll be uncomfortable,” remarked the mother, “so we had better change the subject.  The crops are growing, the weather is fine, and the neighbors are all right.  That disposes of the chief topics of conversation, and will give Uncle Zed a chance.  He always has something worth listening to, if not up his sleeve, then in his white old head.  But do not hurry, Uncle Zed; get through with your supper.”

The old man was a light eater, so he finished before the others.  He looked smilingly about him, noting that those present were eager to listen.  He took from his pocket a number of slips of paper and placed them on the table beside his plate.  Then he began to talk, the others leisurely finishing their dessert.

“The other evening,” he said, “Dorian and I had a conversation which interested us very much, and I think it would interest all of us here.  I was telling him my experience in my search for God and the plan of salvation, and I promised him I would read to him some of the things I found.  Here is a definition of God which did not help me very much.”  He picked up one of the slips of paper and read:  “’God is the integrated harmony of all potentialities of good in every actual and possible rational agent.’  What do you think of that?”