“Sure enough!” she cried.  “That is where I hid it, and covered it up with my best bonnet and veil.  And then, when I went calling, I wore my bonnet and veil, and never once thought about the sugar.  I suppose that was when you found it, you bad boy.”

“Yes ’m, I found it that time.  I was looking for a string,” he said; “but I should have found it anyhow in a day or two, even if you hadn’t let sugar crumbs fall on the shelf, Aunt Ann!”

“I believe you, you terrible boy!” she rejoined.  “Now go call the company to tea.”

And she did believe him, and would have given up the struggle from that day, convinced that the fates were against her, but for her heroic resolve to instill straightway into this young gentleman with his pa’s appetite the good principles of her side of the family.

UNDER THE LILACS.

BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT.

CHAPTER IX.

A HAPPY TEA.

Exactly five minutes before six the party arrived in great state, for Bab and Betty wore their best frocks and hair-ribbons, Ben had a new blue shirt and his shoes on as full-dress, and Sancho’s curls were nicely brushed, his frills as white as if just done up.

No one was visible to receive them, but the low table stood in the middle of the walk, with four chairs and a foot-stool around it.  A pretty set of green and white china caused the girls to cast admiring looks upon the little cups and plates, while Ben eyed the feast longingly, and Sancho with difficulty restrained himself from repeating his former naughtiness.  No wonder the dog sniffed and the children smiled, for there was a noble display of little tarts and cakes, little biscuits and sandwiches, a pretty milk-pitcher shaped like a white calla rising out of its green leaves, and a jolly little tea-kettle singing away over the spirit-lamp as cozily as you please.

“Isn’t it perfectly lovely?” whispered Betty, who had never seen anything like it before.

“I just wish Sally could see us now” answered Bab, who had not yet forgiven her enemy.

“Wonder where the boy is,” added Ben, feeling as good as any one, but rather doubtful how others might regard him.

Here a rumbling sound caused the guests to look toward the garden, and in a moment Miss Celia appeared, pushing a wheeled chair in which sat her brother.  A gay afghan covered the long legs, a broad-brimmed hat half hid the big eyes, and a discontented expression made the thin face as unattractive as the fretful voice which said, complainingly: 

“If they make a noise, I’ll go in.  Don’t see what you asked them for.”

“To amuse you, dear.  I know they will, if you will only try to like them,” whispered the sister, smiling and nodding over the chair-back as she came on, adding aloud:  “Such a punctual party!  I am all ready, however, and we will sit down at once.  This is my brother Thornton, and we are going to be very good friends by and by.  Here’s the droll dog, Thorny; isn’t he nice and curly?”