"So have I."

"And I!"

"One invitation will answer, I fancy! Kindly address it, Miss Dawson."

"And now the Happy-Go-Luckys may be as reckless as they please; fall off tree-tops, get lost in the grape-arbors, or tumble into the fountain--it's all the same," cried Ivy.

"_If_ he comes!"

"Perhaps he won't, without his band of buccaneers. I wonder if they are the Torchlights," said Alene.

"He 'shut up like a clam' as Mat says, when I asked him that day, but I got even with his High Mightiness," returned Laura.

"Say, girls," broke in Ivy, "I feel kind of lonesome! Everybody in town will have a bid but us."

"Poor child, she shall have one!" Alene held out for inspection a missive duly stamped and addressed.

"Now, Ivy, you might address Hermione's, and I'll send Vera's."

Ivy made a grimace.

"I'm glad you don't put it the other way!"

"I'd like to ask Hermione to help in our tissue-paper work, but we can't ask her without Vera."

"Hermione's a dear, so for her sake let's set up with Vera," said Laura.

Ivy gave a prodigious groan.

"'Take the bitter with the sweet,' though it will be Vera bitter."

So it came to pa.s.s that the library was the scene of many more busy hours, and the working-force of the Happy-Go-Luckys was increased by the Ramsey girls, who threw themselves heartily into the making of tissue-paper caps, rosettes and flowers, in which Vera proved an adept, and her productions were so much admired and praised by the others that she became quite amiable, and gave them no reason to regret the invitation.

The time went fast enough to these busy workers, though it seemed very slow to the rest of the young people.

Every lawn in town flew yards of dainty garments all belaced and beruffled; many small frocks and waists having seen much service were patched and mended to see more, there was an epidemic of ribbons, curling-irons, and fancy slippers, which grew worse as the great day approached, and when it came at last--as fine a day as one could wish--each house sent forth its quota of shining-faced, bedizened merry-makers to besiege the Towers' gates.

The smaller children were directed to the library, where they were captured by the larger girls, decorated with tissue-paper favors and set loose; "like a flock of birds and b.u.t.terflies," as Hermione said, or "a plague of hungry locusts," to quote Ivy, who stood on the porch at the front door watching their flight.

"I don't want this old red cap," declared Claude.

"And I want a yellow one like Lawa's weaf," wailed Lois, while Nettie, for once figuring as amiability, with a blue top-knot on her golden tresses, only lingered with the others to give them countenance, as it were.

"Shoo, shoo!" cried the unfeeling Ivy, waving them away with her skirts. "Who are those boys who went past just now, looking so much amused, Laura? The short one stared at you as if he knew you."

"I didn't notice," returned Laura, glancing after the lads.

"It's that boy you made buy the white pitcher," said Alene.

"The other looks like one of Mark Griffin's soldiers of misfortune.

Hoy, Mat!" Ivy hailed the latter in pa.s.sing. "Who are those boys?"

"Bud Waters and Artie Orr; they came with Mark Griffin and Jack Lever,--there's Jack now."

"That thin boy leaning on the cane? I wondered who he was!"

"Yes, he's been laid up with a broken leg; is just able to hobble round; that's the reason we haven't seen him and Mark together for so long. They are hobn.o.bbing with the Stony Road gang to-day."

"The gang? Why, are they all here?"

"Five or six, I should say. Mr. Dawson seemed to know them and sent Jed to show them round."

"That explains where Uncle Fred's invitations went."

"I shouldn't wonder if he knows all about the Torchlights, too!"

"Neither should I, Laura."

"The Torchlights?" cried Vera; "Who are they?"

"'A sort of club,'" said Laura, shutting her lips together in an imitation of Mark.

CHAPTER XXV

IVY'S FRIEND

In the middle of the afternoon as Ivy sat alone on a bench beneath a tree, listening to the band and watching the children circling merrily round a number of maypoles, she heard a voice at her side:

"Excuse me, but may I have part of your seat?"

"Why, certainly!" she said, making room for the speaker, a middle-aged man with genial blue eyes and a blonde beard, who was dressed in an easy-fitting, light suit, and carried a large book which he placed with his hat on the gra.s.s at his feet.

"I guess he's a friend of the housekeeper's; I noticed him speaking with her to-day," thought Ivy, her gaze straying back to the light-footed dancers.

"It looks easy, twirling those ribbons around the poles, but isn't it rather warm weather, for dancing?"

Ivy turned upon him a pair of eyes full of pity for his ignorance.

"Why, it would be lovely! I'm sure I'd never think of the heat if--"

she glanced eloquently at the crutches which leaned against the tree.

"It's too bad, at a time like this especially; I shouldn't like that either! Though my dancing days are past, I like to walk a lot and gather 'yarbs an' things,'" he said. Taking up the big black book, he displayed a collection of pressed plants, leaves and flowers, in which Ivy took so much interest that he showed her through the book, explaining the value and rarity of his treasures gathered from many places, and relating incidents connected with his travels in search of them.

Ivy gave a sigh of admiration.