Mrs. Thomson, "I'm glad you think so, for it's not my idea of a party. But there, I'm old-fashioned, as Jessie often says. Tell me—d'ye think there's enough to eat?"
Elizabeth Seton laughed. "Enough! Why, there's oceans. Do let me carry some things round. It's time for the sweets, isn't it? May I take a meringue on one plate and some of the trifle on another, and ask which they'll have?"
"I wish you would," said Mrs. Thomson, "for I never think a body gets anything at these stand-up meals." She put a generous helping of trifle on a plate and handed it to Elizabeth. "And mind to say there's chocolate shape as well, and there's a kind of apricot souffley thing too. Papa brought in the pine-apple. Wasn't it real mindful of him?"
"It was indeed," said Elizabeth heartily, as she set off with her plates.
The first person she encountered was Mr. Taylor, skipping about with his fourth cup of tea.
"Too bad, Miss Seton," he cried. "Where are the gentlemen? No, thanks! not that length yet, Jessie," as the daughter of the house passed with a plate of cakes. "Since you're so pressing, I'll take a penny-thing."
"Nice girrl, Jessie," he observed, as that affronted damsel passed on. "Papa well, Miss Seton?"
"Quite well, thank you."
"That's right. Yon was a fine sermon on Sabbath mornin'. Niver heard the minister better."
"I'm glad," said Elizabeth. "I shall tell Father."
"Ay, do—we must encourage him." Mr. Taylor put what was left of his cake into his mouth, took a large gulp of tea. "It's a difficult field. Nobody knows that better than me."
"I'm sure no one does," said Elizabeth politely but vaguely. Mr. Taylor blew his nose with a large red silk handkerchief.
"Miss Seton," he said, coming close to her, and continuing confidentially, "our Sabbath-school social's comin' off on Tuesday week, that's the ninth. Would you favour us with a song? Something semi-sacred, you know."
"Of course I shall sing for you," said Elizabeth; "but couldn't I sing something quite secular or quite sacred? I don't like 'semi' things."
Mr. Taylor stood on tiptoe to put himself more on a level with his tall companion, cocked his head and looked rather like a robin.
"What's the matter with 'The Better Land'?" he asked.
Elizabeth smiled down at him and shook her head.
"Ah, well! I leave it to you, Miss Seton. Here," he caught her arm as she was turning away, "you'll remind Papa that he's to take the chair that night? Tea on the table at seven-thirty."
"Yes, I'll remind him. Keep your mind easy, Mr. Taylor. Father and I'll both be there."
"Thank you, Miss Seton; that'll be all right, then;" and Mr. Taylor took his empty cup to his hostess, while Elizabeth, seeing the two Miss Hendrys unoccupied for the moment, deposited with them the meringue and trifle.
She complimented Miss Hendry on her elegant appearance and admired Miss Flora's hand-made collar, and left them both beaming. She brought a pink meringue to Mrs. Taylor and soothed her fears of the consequences, while that lady hung her head coyly on one side and said, "Ye're temptin' me; ye're temptin' me!"
Supper had reached the fruit and chocolate stage when Jessie Thomson brought Stewart Stevenson and introduced him to Elizabeth Seton.
"I wanted to tell you how much I liked your song," he began.
"How kind of you!" said Elizabeth. "I think myself it's a nice song."
"I don't know anything about music," continued Mr. Stevenson.
"Was that why you said you liked my song instead of my singing?"
"Yes," he said; and they both laughed.
They were deep in the subject of Scots ballads when Mr. Inverarity came along with dates on a majolica dish in one hand, his other hand behind his back.
"A little historical matter," he said, offering the dates. "No? Then," he produced a silver dish with the air of a conjurer, "a chocolate?"
Elizabeth chose deliberately.
"I'm looking for the biggest," she said. "You see I'm greedy."
"Not at all," said Mr. Inverarity. "Sweets to the sweet;" and he passed on his jokesome way.
"Sweets to the sweet," repeated Elizabeth. "Isn't it funny? Words that were dropped with violets over the drowned Ophelia now furnish witticisms for suburban young men."
"Miss Seton," said Mrs. Thomson, bustling up, "you're here. We're going back to the drawing-room now to have a little more music." She dropped her voice to a hoarse whisper. "Papa's asked Mr. Taylor to sing. Jessie'll be awful ill-pleased, but he's an old friend."
"Does he want to sing?" asked Elizabeth.
"Dyin' to," said Mrs. Thomson.
Back to the drawing-room flocked the company, and Mr. Taylor, to use his own words, "took the floor." Jessie was standing beside the Simpsons and saw him do it.
"What a funny little man that is!" said Miss Simpson languidly. "What's he going to do now?"
"The dear knows," said Jessie bitterly.
They were not left long in doubt.
Mr. Taylor struck an attitude.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "I have been asked to favour you with a song, but with your kind permission I'll give you first a readin'." He fumbled in his pocket and brought out a newspaper cutting. "It's a little bit I read in the papers," he explained, "very comical."
The "little bit" from the newspapers was in what is known in certain circles as "guid auld Doric," and it seemed to be about a feather-bed and a lodger, but so amused was Mr. Taylor at the joke he had last made, and so convulsed was he at one he saw coming, that very little was heard except his sounds of mirth.
Laughter is infectious, especially after supper, and the whole room rocked with Mr. Taylor. Only Jessie sat glum, and the Simpsons smiled but wanly. Greatly encouraged by the success of his reading, Mr. Taylor proceeded with his song, a rollicking ditty entitled "Miss Hooligan's Christmas Cake." It was his one song, his only song. It told, at length, the ingredients of the cake and its effect on Tim Mooney, who
"lay down on the sofa
And said that he wished he was dead."
The last two lines of the chorus ran:
"It would kill a man twice to eat half a slice
Of Miss Hooligan's Christmas Cake."
Uproarious applause greeted Mr. Taylor's efforts, and he was so elated that it was with difficulty Mr. Thomson restrained him from singing it all over again.
"You've done fine, man," he whispered. "Mind you're the superintendent of the Sabbath school."
Mr. Taylor's face sobered.
"Thomson,
