“I ought to,” said Alanna, in a whisper that reached only her father’s ear.

“You suit me, whatever you do,” said Mayor Costello; “and Mrs. Church can take her chances with the rest of us.”

Mrs. Church seemed to be quite willing to do so.  When at last the great day of the fair came, she was one of the first to reach the hall, in the morning, to ask Mrs. Costello how she might be of use.

“Now wait a minute, then!” said Mrs. Costello, cordially.  She straightened up, as she spoke, from an inspection of a box of fancy-work.  “We could only get into the hall this hour gone, my dear, and ‘twas a sight, after the Native Sons’ Banquet last night.  It’ll be a miracle if we get things in order for to-night.  Father Crowley said he’d have three carpenters here this morning at nine, without fail; but not one’s come yet.  That’s the way!”

“Oh, we’ll fix things,” said Mrs. Church, shaking out a dainty little apron.

Alanna came briskly up, and beamed at her.  The little girl was driving about on all sorts of errands for her mother, and had come in to report.

“Mother, I went home,” she said, in a breathless rush, “and told Alma four extra were coming to lunch, and here are your big scissors, and I told the boys you wanted them to go out to Uncle Dan’s for greens, they took the buckboard, and I went to Keyser’s for the cheese-cloth, and he had only eighteen yards of pink, but he thinks Kelley’s have more, and there are the tacks, and they don’t keep spool-wire, and the electrician will be here in ten minutes.”

“Alanna, you’re the pride of me life,” said her mother, kissing her.  “That’s all now, dearie.  Sit down and rest.”

“Oh, but I’d rather go round and see things,” said Alanna, and off she went.

The immense hall was filled with the noise of voices, hammers, and laughter.  Groups of distracted women were forming and dissolving everywhere around chaotic masses of boards and bunting.  Whenever a carpenter started for the door, or entered it, he was waylaid, bribed, and bullied by the frantic superintendents of the various booths.  Messengers came and went, staggering under masses of evergreen, carrying screens, rope, suit-cases, baskets, boxes, Japanese lanterns, freezers, rugs, ladders, and tables.

Alanna found the stage fascinating.  Lunch and dinner were to be served there, for the five days of the fair, and it had been set with many chairs and tables, fenced with ferns and bamboo.  Alanna was charmed to arrange knives and forks, to unpack oily hams and sticky cakes, and great bowls of salad, and to store them neatly away in a green room.

The grand piano had been moved down to the floor.  Now and then an audacious boy or two banged on it for the few moments that it took his mother’s voice or hands to reach him.  Little girls gently played The Carnival of Venice or Echoes of the Ball, with their scared eyes alert for reproof.  And once two of the “big” Sodality girls came up, assured and laughing and dusty, and boldly performed one of their convent duets.  Some of the tired women in the booths straightened up and clapped, and called “encore!”