The crowd now flocked into the parlors.  The Peterkins themselves left the hollyhocks and joined the company that was entering; Mr. Peterkin, as Julius Caesar, leading in Mrs. Peterkin, as Queen Elizabeth.  Mrs. Peterkin hardly knew what to do, as she passed the parlor door; for one of the Osbornes, as Sir Walter Raleigh, flung a velvet cloak before her.  She was uncertain whether she ought to step on it, especially as she discovered at that moment that she had forgotten to take off her rubber overshoes, which she had put on to go through the garden.  But as she stood hesitating, the lady from Philadelphia, as Mrs. Peterkin, beckoned her forward, and she walked over the ruby velvet as though it were a door-mat.

For another surprise stunned her,—­there were three Mrs. Peterkins!  Not only Mrs. Bromwick, but their opposite neighbor, had induced Amanda to take dresses of Mrs. Peterkin’s from the top of the trunks, and had come in at the same moment with the lady from Philadelphia, ready to receive.  She stood in the middle of the bow-window at the back of the room, the two others in the corners.  Ann Maria Bromwick had the part of Elizabeth Eliza, and Agamemnon too was represented; and there were many sets of “little boys” in India-rubber boots, going in and out with the Hindu snake-charmers.

Mr. Peterkin had studied up his Latin grammar a little, in preparation for his part of Julius Caesar.  Agamemnon had reminded him that it was unnecessary, as Julius Caesar in Shakspeare spoke in English.  Still he now found himself using with wonderful ease Latin phrases such as “E pluribus unum,” “lapsus linguae,” and “sine qua non,” where they seemed to be appropriate.

Solomon John looked well as Othello, although by some he was mistaken for an older snake-charmer, with his brown complexion, glaring white trousers, and white shirt.  He wore a white lawn turban that had belonged to his great-grandmother.  His part, however, was more understood when he was with Elizabeth Eliza as Desdemona; for they occasionally formed a tableau, in which he pulled the pillow-case completely over her head.

Agamemnon was greeted with applause as Nick Bottom.  He sang the song of the “ousel cock,” but he could not make himself heard.  At last he found a “Titania” who listened to him.

But none of the company attempted to carry out the parts represented by their costumes.  Charles I. soon conversed with Oliver Cromwell and with the different Mary Stuarts, who chatted gayly, as though executions were every-day occurrences.

At first there was a little awkwardness.  Nuns stood as quiet as if in their convent cells, and brave brigands hid themselves behind the doors; but as the different guests began to surprise each other, the sounds of laughter and talking increased.  Every new-comer was led up to each several Mrs. Peterkin.

Then came a great surprise,—­a band of music sounded from the piazza.  Some of the neighbors had sent in the town band, as a farewell tribute.  This added to the excitement of the occasion.  Strains of dance-music were heard, and dancing was begun.  Sir Walter Raleigh led out Penelope, and Red Riding-hood without fear took the arm of the fiercest brigand for a round dance.