On Saturday morning the girls went on another shopping expedition, and in the afternoon attended a recital given by a celebrated pianist.  After the recital, instead of going home, Miss Southard surprised her guests by taking them over to the theatre where her brother was playing.  Mr. Southard had arranged that they should be admitted to his dressing room.  It was the same theatre in which Anne had played the previous winter and several of the stage hands recognized her and bowed respectfully to her as she passed through to the actor’s dressing room.  They found him still in costume.  He never changed to street clothing on matinee days.

“You are respectfully and cordially invited to eat dinner in my dressing room,” announced Mr. Southard the moment they were fairly inside the door.  “I have ordered dinner for six o’clock.”

Eating dinner in a dressing room was an innovation as far as Grace and Miriam were concerned, but to Anne it was nothing new.  It had been in the usual order of things during her brief engagement in “As You Like It.”  As it was after five o’clock when they arrived it seemed only a little while until a waiter appeared with table linen and silver, which Mr. Southard ordered arranged on the table that had been brought in for the occasion.  Then the dinner was served and eaten with much gayety and laughter.  After dinner, a pleasant hour of conversation followed, and later on the visitors were introduced to the various members of the company.  Unlike many professionals who have achieved greatness, Mr. Southard was thoroughly democratic, and displayed none of the snobbish tactics with his company which so often humiliate and embitter the lesser lights of a theatrical company.

At eight o’clock they said good-bye to the actor.  Through the courtesy of Mr. Forest they were to witness a play in which a wonderful little girl of fifteen who had taken New York by storm was to appear.  After the play they were to pick up Mr. Southard at his theatre and go home together.  That night another jolly little supper was held in the Southards’ dining room, then three sleepy young women fairly tumbled into their beds, completely tired out by their eventful day.

As the return to Overton was to be made on the noon train, the Southard household rose in good season on Sunday morning.  Breakfast was rather a quiet meal, for the shadow of saying good-bye hung over the little house party.

“When shall we see you again, I wonder?” sighed Miss Southard regretfully.  “You are going home for Christmas, I suppose.”

“Oh, yes,” replied Grace quickly.  “I wish you might spend it with us, but I suppose it would be out of the question.  You must come to Oakdale next summer.  We can’t entertain you with plays and recitals, but we can get up boating and gypsy parties.  The boys will be home, then, and we can arrange to have plenty of good times.  Will you come?”

“With pleasure if all is well with us at that time,” promised Mr. Southard, and his sister.