“Don’t feel slighted at being left off my dinner list,” she said to Grace, then added slyly, “Why don’t the eight originals hold forth at Nora’s?”

“You’re a positive dear, Miriam,” Grace replied.  “We have been wanting to have an old-time frolic, but didn’t wish to seem selfish and clannish.”

“Opportunity is knocking at your gate, get busy,” was Miriam’s advice, which Grace was not slow to follow.

“At last there are signs of that spread that I was promised at the bazaar,” proclaimed Hippy Wingate cheerfully, as attired in a long gingham apron belonging to Nora’s elder sister, he energetically stirred fudge in a chafing dish and insisted every other minute that Nora should try it to see if it were done.

“You’ll have to stir it a lot, yet,” Nora informed him.

“But I’m so tired,” protested Hippy.  “I think Tom or Reddy might change jobs with me.”

“Not so you could notice it,” was the united reply from these two young men who sat with a basket of English walnuts between them and did great execution with nut crackers, while Anne and David separated the kernels from their shells.

The eight originals had repaired to the O’Malley kitchen immediately after their arrival, and were deep in the preparation of the spread, long deferred.

Grace stood by the gas range watching the chocolate she was making, while Nora and Jessica sat at a table making tiny sandwiches of white and brown bread with fancy fillings.

“This spread will taste much better because we’ve all had a hand in it,” remarked David, as he handed Nora a dish of nut kernels, which she dropped into the mixture over which Hippy labored.

“I never fully realized my own cleverness until to-night,” said Hippy modestly.  “My powers as a fudge maker are simply marvelous.”

“Humph!” jeered David, “you haven’t done anything except stir it, and you tried to quit doing that.”

“But no one paid any attention to my complaints, so I turned out successfully without aid,” retorted Hippy, waving his spoon in triumph.

“Stop talking,” ordered Nora, “and pour that fudge into this pan before it hardens.”

“At your service,” said Hippy, with a flourish of the chafing dish that almost resulted in sending its contents to the floor, and elicited Nora’s stern disapproval.

“How fast the time has gone,” remarked David to Anne.  “Just to think that it’s back to the college for us to-morrow.”

“It will seem a long time until Easter,” replied Anne rather sadly.

“And still longer to us,” was David’s answer.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” put in Grace, who had heard the conversation.  “I think it is always more lonely for those who are left behind.  Oakdale will seem awfully dull and sleepy.  We can’t play basketball any more this year on account of the loss of the gym., and we seniors are going to give a concert instead of a play.  So there are no exciting prospects ahead.  There will be no class dances as we have no place to dance, unless we hire a hall, and we never have money enough for that.”