Miss Craydocke and Hazel set them at it,—­their good time; they had planned it all out, and there was no stiff, shy waiting.  They began, right off, with the “Muffin Man.”  Hazel danced up to Desire:—­

“O, do you know the Muffin Man,
The Muffin Man, the Muffin Man? 
O, do you know the Muffin Man
That lives in Drury Lane?”

“O, yes, I know the Muffin Man,
The Muffin Man, the Muffin Man,
O, yes, I know the Muffin Man
That lives in Drury Lane.”

And so they danced off together:—­

“Two of us know the Muffin Man,
The Muffin Man, the Muffin Man,
Two of us know the Muffin Man
That lives in Drury Lane.”

And then they besieged Miss Craydocke; and then the three met Ada Geoffrey, just as she had come in and spoken to Diana and Mrs. Ripwinkley; and Ada had caught the refrain, and responded instantly; and four of them knew the Muffin Man.

“I know they’ll think it’s common and queer, and they’ll laugh to-morrow,” whispered Helena to Diana, as Hazel drew the lengthening string to Dorris Kincaid’s corner and caught her up; but the next minute they were around Helena in her turn, and they were laughing already, with pure glee; and five faces bent toward her, and five voices sang,—­

          “O, don’t you know the Muffin Man?”

And Helena had to sing back that she did; and then the six made a perfect snarl around Mrs. Ripwinkley herself, and drew her in; and then they all swept off and came down across the room upon Mr. Oldways, who muttered, under the singing, “seven women!  Well, the Bible says so, and I suppose it’s come!” and then he held out both hands, while his hard face unbent in every wrinkle, with a smile that overflowed through all their furrowed channels, up to his very eyes; like some sparkling water that must find its level; and there were eight that knew the Muffin Man.

So nine, and ten, and up to fifteen; and then, as their line broke away into fragments, still breathless with fun, Miss Craydocke said,—­her eyes brimming over with laughing tears, that always came when she was gay,—­

“There, now! we all know the ‘Muffin Man;’ therefore it follows, mathematically, I believe, that we must all know each other.  I think we’ll try a sitting-down game next.  I’ll give you all something.  Desire, you can tell them what to do with it, and Miss Ashburne shall predict me consequences.”

So they had the “Presentation Game;” and the gifts, and the dispositions, and the consequences, when the whispers were over, and they were all declared aloud, were such hits and jumbles of sense and nonsense as were almost too queer to have been believed.

“Miss Craydocke gave me a butter firkin,” said Mrs. Ripwinkley.  “I was to put it in the parlor and plant vanilla beans in it; and the consequence would be that Birnam Wood would come to Dunsinane.”

“She gave me a wax doll,” said Helena.  “I was to buy it a pair of high-heeled boots and a chignon; and the consequence would be that she would have to stand on her head.”