Mrs. Littell laughed jovially and beamed at her young company.  “I am only distracted when Mr. Littell and I are here alone,” she rejoined.  “This is what keeps us young.”

“You’ve only a shake to eat in, Betty,” exclaimed Bobby Littell, who was very dark and very gay and very much alive all of the time.  “Do hurry.  We’re ’most through.”

“Dear me! what can I eat in a shake?” murmured Betty, as the soup was placed before her.  “And I am hungry.”

“A milk-shake should be absorbed in a shake,” observed Bob Henderson, grinning at her from across the table.

“I need more than that, Bob, after what I have been through this morning.  Such a job as shopping is!  And oh, Bobby!  I’ve got the loveliest thing to show you.  You’ll just squeal!”

“What is it?” cried Bobby, eager and big-eyed at once.  “Do hurry your luncheon, Betty.  We’ve all got to change, and it’s almost time.”

“Time for what?” demanded Betty, trying to eat daintily but hurriedly.

But Mrs. Littell called them to order here.  “Give Betty time to eat properly.  Whatever it is, Betty, it can’t begin until you are ready.”

“I’m through, Mother,” said Bobby.  “May I be excused?  I’ll have to help Esther, you know.  You’d better forget your appetite, Betty,” she whispered as she passed the latter on her way out of the room.  “Time and tide wait for no man—­or girl either.”

“What does she mean?” wondered Betty, and became a little anxious as the others began to rise, too, and were excused.  “Have we got to change?  What is it—­the movies?  Or a party?  Of course, it isn’t skating?  Even if there was a little scale of ice last night, it would never in this world bear us,” added Betty, utterly puzzled.

Bob Henderson had slipped around to her side of the table and leaned over her chair back to whisper in Betty’s ear: 

“You’ve got to be ready in twenty minutes.  The horses won’t stand this cold weather—­not under saddle.”

“Saddle!  Horses!” gasped Betty Gordon, rising right up from the table with the soup spoon in her hand.  “I—­I don’t believe I want any more luncheon, Mrs. Littell.  Really, I don’t need any more.  Will you please excuse me?”

“Not if you run away with my spoon, Betty,” laughed her hostess.  “It was the dish that ran away with the spoon, and you are not a dish, dear.”

“She’ll be dished if she doesn’t hurry,” called Bob from the door, and then he disappeared.

“Sit down and finish your luncheon, Betty,” advised Mrs. Littell.  “I assure you that they will not go without you.  The men can walk the horses about a little if it is necessary.”

“I haven’t been in a saddle since I left the land of oil and my own dear Clover-pony!” cried Betty later, as she ran upstairs.  “I know just where my riding habit is.  Oh, dear!  I hope I have as spirited a horse as dear Clover was.  Are you all ready, Bobby?  And you, too, Louise—­and Esther?  Goodness me! suppose Carter had broken down on the road and hadn’t brought me back in time——­