[Illustration:  THE EAST END OF JILL’S DINING-ROOM.]

By one of those coincidences, not half as rare as they seem, at four o’clock the same day Aunt and Uncle Melville appeared upon the scene.  They were spending a short time at a summer hotel in the vicinity, and Jill persuaded them to stay for tea, sending their carriage back for Cousin George and his wife, who were at the same place.  She also invited her father and mother to improve the opportunity to make a small family gathering.  “I suppose you know Jim is coming over this evening,” said Jack.  “Don’t you think he had better bring Uncle Harry along?”

“I didn’t know Jim was coming, but he is always welcome, and Uncle Harry too.  Your father and mother, of course, if they are able to come out this evening.”

“Oh, they are coming, anyway,” Jack began and stopped suddenly.  “That is, I mean, certainly they will be delighted, if you send for them.”

Jill was more puzzled than ever, but they all came.

“Now, you will please consider yourselves a ‘board of visitors,’” said she, as they sat at the table after tea, “authorized to inspect this institution and report your impressions.”

“Remembering that Jill is the warden and I am the prisoner,” said Jack.

“But you must conduct us to the cells,” said her father, rising, “and tell us what to admire.”

Jill accordingly began at the beginning.  She showed them the light vestibule, with a closet at one side for umbrellas and overshoes, and a seat at the other; the central hall that would be used as a common reception-room, and on such occasions as the present, would become a part of one large apartment—­the entire first floor of the main house; the staircase with the stained-glass windows climbing the side; the toilet-room from the garden entrance and the elevator reaching from the basement to the attic.  She showed them the family suite of rooms; her own in the southeast corner, with the dressing-room and adjoining chamber toward the west, and Jack’s room over the front hall, with the large guest-room above the dining-room.  She urged them to count the closets and notice their ample size; referred with pride to the servants’ rooms, and explained how there was space in the roof for two chambers and a billiard-room, if they should ever want them.  With true housekeeper’s pride she declared the beauties and wonders of the kitchen arrangements, a theme that had been often rehearsed, and from the kitchen they descended to the basement, which contained the well-lighted laundry, the servants’ bath-room and store-rooms without name or number; some warm and sunny, others cool and dark, but all dry and well ventilated.

Then they returned to the drawing-room to make their reports.

“It’s too large,” said Bessie.

“It isn’t small enough,” said Jim.

“The third floor is not the proper place for a billiard-table,” remarked Uncle Melville, sententiously.  “It is too remote for such a social pastime; too difficult of access; too—­too—­er—­”