Cousin Roxy decided to have a farewell party, two nights before Kit left, and the girls were delighted.  Any party launched by Cousin Roxy promised novelty and excitement.

A big dancing platform was built on the lawn under the great elms, and rows of Japanese lanterns hung like glowworms all among the branches.

Cady Graves was there with his violin, and called out for the dancing, but Jean took the piano between times in the house, and the girls and boys gathered around her, Billie leading in the old college songs they all knew best.

It really seemed as though there were a special moon hung up in the August sky just for the occasion.  It was so richly luminous, and as Doris said, so near you.  The children had been playing forfeits, and in Gilead you played games at parties until you were at least twenty.  Piney Haddock was giving out the forfeits, sitting blindfolded on a chair, while Jean held them over her head, calling out with each one: 

    “Heavy, heavy hangs over your head,
      What shall the owner do to redeem it?”

Whereupon Piney would have to respond interestedly,

    “Fine or superfine?”

It happened that Kit’s little turquoise forget-me-not ring was the particular forfeit dangling over Piney’s head, when Billie stuck his head in at the open window with a couple of other boys, and Piney lifted her chin at the sound of his voice.

“She must catch Billie Ellis, and bring him back to kneel at my feet, and hand over his forfeit.”

Billie had evaded this, escaping with Banty Herrick, and the big Peckham boy, to show them his Belgian hares.  Billie never had liked kissing games, and one of the Judge’s favorite stories was how he had tried to give Billie a birthday party once, when he was seven years old.  Most of the guests were the Judge’s friends, with a small scattering of youngsters, and it appeared that just as the Judge had lined up some sweet-faced old ladies to kiss Billie, Billie had been found missing.  Later he was located, clad only in overalls, leading the whole string of other children to a ruined sawmill that stood on a winding stream below the house.

So to-night the spirit of adversity whirled him about from the driveway, and he sped down the long lane with Kit in fast pursuit.  Overhead the mulberry trees met in a leafy arcade, and out of the hazel thicket a whippoorwill called, flying low down the lane after the two darting forms, as if it were trying to find out what the excitement was about at that time of night.  At the turn of the lane there were three apple trees, early Shepherd Sweetings, and here Billie slipped down and lay breathing heavily, his hands hunting for windfalls in the tall grass.  Kit passed him by, speeding the full length of the lane, and bringing up at the end of the log-run, before the old mill.

“Billie Ellis, you come out of there,” she called.  “I’ve got my slippers wet already chasing after you, and I’m not going to climb all over those old timbers hunting for you.”