Whatever their attitude toward this merrymaking had previously been, the Monroe girls were instantly drawn into the spirit of the occasion.  Martie and Sally were dragged upstairs, where they left hats and coats, were taken downstairs again with affectionate, girlish arms about their waists; and found themselves laughing and shouting with the rest.  Towed through the boiling crowd to Grandma, they kissed the cool, soft old face.  They greeted the other old women with pretty enthusiasm.

Lydia meanwhile had decorously delivered her message of good wishes and had drifted to a chair against the wall, where matrons greeted her eagerly and where, in her own way, she began to enjoy herself.  Sentiment, hospitality, gaiety filled the air.

“Isn’t Grandma wonderful?” said all the voices, over and over.  “I think she’s wonderful!  Mrs. Hawkes had a dinner for just the five old ladies, you know.  Wasn’t that sweet?  The family had to have their dinner earlier—­just the five old ladies.  Wasn’t that a cute idea?  Ellen said they looked perfectly dear, all together!  Mary Clute couldn’t get here from San Francisco, you know, but she sent Grandma a tea-pot cover—­the cutest thing!  Did you see the Davids’ baby?  It’s upstairs, I guess; it’s a darling little thing!  Think of it, three great-grandchildren!  Oh, I do, too; I think it’s a lovely party—­I think the rooms look lovely—­I think it was an awfully cute idea!”

The oldest David grandchild, becoming sodden with sleepiness, climbed into Lydia’s lap.  Sally, after exchanging a conscious undertone with young Joe, slipped through the dining-room door with him, and happily joined the working forces in the kitchen.  In her mind Sally knew that the Hawkeses were but homely folk; she knew that any Monroe should shrink from this hot and noisy kitchen.  But Sally’s heart welcomed the eager bustle, the tasks so imperative that her timid little entity was entirely forgotten, the talk that was friendly and affectionate and comprehensible.

Joe and she laughed over piecing tablecloths together for the long table, and kept a jingling ripple of laughter accompanying the jingling of plated spoons and the thick glasses.  Ellen and Grace, as the family debutantes, were inside with the company, but Carrie and Min, the married daughters, were here, with old Mrs. Crowley, who never missed an occasion of this kind, Mrs. Mulkey’s daughter Annie Tate, Gertie Hansen, and an excited fringe of children too young to dance and too old to be sent off to bed.

As it was the custom for the more intimate friends to bring a cake, a pan of cookies, or a great jug of strong lemonade to such an affair, there was more food than twice this surging group of men, women, and children could possibly consume, so that the boys and girls could keep their mouths full of oily, nutty, walnut wafers and broken bits of layer cake without any conscientious scruples.  One of the large kitchen tables was entirely covered with plates bearing layer cakes, with chocolate, maple, shining white, and streaky orange icings, or topped with a deadly coating of fluffy cocoa-nut.  On the floor half a dozen ice cream freezers leaked generously; at the sink, Mrs. Rose, who had been Minnie Hawkes, was black and sticky to the elbows with lemon juice.