The people in the dining room left the table and came out in the hall. Cary Adams had been having a very nice time, for a young fellow. Isabel poured the chocolate, and on her right sat a Harvard senior. Alice poured the tea, and beside her sat Cary, who made himself useful handing it about. He liked Alice very much. A young married couple were over on the other side, and now this addition and the fiddle looked suspicious.
"My dear Doris," exclaimed her uncle. He had been discussing Greek poets with the Harvard professor, and had really forgotten about her. "Are you tired? It's about time a young person like you, and an old person like me, went home."
He didn't look a bit old. There was a tint of pink in his cheeks—he had been so roused and warmed with his argument and his tea.
"Oh, do let Doris stay and see them dance, just one dance," pleaded Eudora. "We have been sitting here talking, and haven't tired ourselves out a bit."
The fiddler and the dancers went to the room where the children had their frolic. That was Jane Morse's cousin Winslow. How odd she should see him and hear black Joe, who fiddled like the blind piper. The children kept time with their feet.
The minuet was elegant. Then they had a cotillion in which there was a great deal of bowing. After that Mr. Adams said they must go home, and Madam Royall came and talked to Doris in a charming fashion, and then told Susan, the slim colored maid, to wrap her up head and ears, and in spite of Mr. Adams' protest Pompey came round with the sleigh.
"I hope you had a nice time," said Madam Royall, as she put a Christmas box in the little girl's hand.
"I'm just full of joy," she answered with shining eyes. "I couldn't hold any more unless I grew," laughingly.
They made her promise to come again, and the children kissed her good-by. Then they were whisked off and set down at their own door in no time.
"Now you must run to bed. Aunt Elizabeth would be horrified at your staying up so late."