We could scarcely wait for Friday to arrive, but there were many preparations to be made, so we curbed our impatience and worked very industriously.  As we were now seven in the household, not counting the servants, and had invited quite a number of guests, the resources of our house were not extensive enough to stow them all away, consequently we spent a lively morning at the side-hill house fitting up three rooms, with Minna’s assistance.

The blue room, with its pretty outlook upon the meadows, was our favorite, and upon it we bestowed the most attention.  The carpet was gray and blue, of an especially pretty pattern, and the handsome marble-topped bureau, exhumed from the never-failing resources of the house in the woods, looked as fresh as though purchased yesterday.  We made the bed with our own hands, touching with reverent care the superb blankets with their inscription: 

“To Horace Greeley, the Protector of American Industry.”

Then, when the blue silk eider-down counterpane was adjusted to our satisfaction, and one or two little ornaments added to the bureau and chimney-piece—­“Cupid” in the Naples Gallery, and my dear Lela’s portrait, both framed in blue velvet, and a beautiful Sevres vase which mamma calls “the one that Pickie didn’t break” (his little hands destroyed its mate)—­we congratulated ourselves upon the effect of the room.

Apropos of the Cupid, Ida sent it last winter with Annibal Caracci’s “Magdalen” and one or two other religious pictures to be framed at Schaus’.  When they were sent home, to our surprise, the frames were all surmounted by crosses—­an emblem that, although quite en regle for the Holy Magdalen, was, we thought, singularly inappropriate for Cupid.  Stopping in at Schaus’ a day or two later, I inquired of young Mr. Schaus, to whose taste we had left the selection of the frames, his reason for this extraordinary innovation.  His reply was as naive as unexpected: 

“But, mademoiselle, does Cupid, then, never meet with crosses?”

Having done our best for the blue room, we walked over the grounds to see that they were all in order, and when we had admired the pretty blue boat, the white tent, and the water-lilies in full bloom (planted that morning), and gone down to the express office to receive a package due by the ten o’clock train—­a copy of the poems of one of the expected guests, which was to be left carelessly in his room with a mark at one of the ballads,—­we congratulated ourselves that we had done all in our power to make the rooms look tasteful and pretty.

Lina was in her glory, having had an unrestricted order to do her best.  I had a slight foreboding of disappointment, as it was Friday, remembering, too, that the dining-room was lighted by three candles the previous night (a French superstition); but we all dressed in good spirits.

The somewhat spectral appearance of five ladies in mourning was somewhat relieved by the recent addition to our little circle, Miss Worthington, whose dress, though black, was enlivened by a little dash of pale blue—­a most becoming match for her fair complexion and golden curls.