She plunged at Celia, brown bread and all, and kissed the top of her head, tweaked a lock of Captain Rayburn’s thick hair, and was flying away when Celia spoke.  “You’re the biggest dear of anybody,” she said, with a smile.

* * * * *

It was getting up a party in a hurry, but somehow the thing was accomplished.  Whether Lanse remembered his own birthday at all was a question.  When he came home at six o’clock on that day, Charlotte told him that she had special reasons for seeing him in his best.

“Why, you’re all dressed up yourself,” he observed.  “What’s up?”

“Doctor Forester’s coming out to hear us play,” was all she would tell him, and Lanse groaned over the fact that the little orchestra was so out of practice.

When the guests arrived, they found the man with the birthday anxiously looking over scores.  He greeted them with enthusiasm.

“Doctor Forester, this is good of you, if we can’t play worth a copper cent.  Miss Atkinson!  Well this is a surprise—­a delightful one!  Miss Carolyn, how goes school?  How are you, Norman?  You’ll find Just in a minute.  Miss Houghton, now you and I can settle that little question we were discussing.  Charlotte, you rogue, you and Uncle Ray are at the bottom of this!  Ah, Doctor Churchill!  This wouldn’t have been complete without our neighbour.  Miss Atkinson, allow me to present Doctor Churchill.”

Thus John Lansing Birch accepted at once and with his accustomed ease the role of host, and enjoyed himself immensely.  Celia, watching him from her couch, said suddenly to Captain Rayburn, who sat beside her: 

“This is just what the family needed.  If you hadn’t come we should probably have gone drudging on all winter without realising what was the matter with us.  No wonder poor Lanse appreciates it.  He’s had a month of hard labour without an enlivening hour.  And Charlotte—­doesn’t she look like a fresh carnation to-night?”

“Very much,” agreed the captain, with approving eyes on his younger niece, who wore her best frock of French gray, a tint which set off her warm colouring to advantage.  Celia had thrust several of Captain Rayburn’s scarlet carnations into her sister’s belt, with a result gratifying to more than one pair of eyes.

“Still,” remarked the captain, his glance returning to Celia, “I’m not sure that I can say whether a fresh carnation is to be preferred to a newly picked rose.  That pale pink gown you are wearing is certainly a joy to the eye.”

Celia blushed under his admiring glance.  There could be no question that she was very lovely, if a trifle frail in appearance from her month’s quiet, and it was comforting to be assured that she was not looking like a “limp water-lily” to-night.

“When are we to hear the orchestra?” cried Doctor Forester, after an hour of lively talk, a game or two, and some remarkable puzzles contributed by Just.  The distinguished gentleman from the city was enjoying himself immensely, for he was accustomed to social functions of a far more elaborate and formal sort, and liked nothing better than to join in a frolic with the younger people when such rare opportunities presented.