As the date for the Coulters' fête approached the weather was breathlessly scanned in practically every home in Baileyville and throbbing hearts almost ceased to beat lest the day be stormy or too cold to wear the finery that awaited the great occasion. Could one have taken off the roofs of the houses between his thumb and forefinger as he would lift the cover off a sugar-bowl, what a bewildering array of freshly starched muslins, clean shirts and collars, shining shoes, and rose-encircled hats would have met his gaze!
Carl McGregor had spoken truly when he had affirmed to his mother that everybody in the town was going to the wedding festival. All Baileyville was on tiptoe with excitement. The schools were to be closed for the afternoon, not alone to do Mr. Coulter honor, but because it was quite evident that no children would be found in their seats on the great day.
"We McGregors would be the only kids in the whole place, I bet, if they did have school," declared Carl gloomily. "You see, Ma, it's just as I told you—everybody's going to the Coulters'."
"I should think, hating school as you do, you'd be thankful to have a holiday," commented Mary.
"Ordinarily I would," was the prompt reply. "But what good is this holiday going to do me, I'd like to know, with Frankie O'Dowd wearing all my clothes, and Mother forbidding me to go out of the house in my bathing suit?"
"Well, at least you won't have to study," said his optimistic sister, making an effort to comfort her morose companion.
"I might as well study; it would take up my mind," fretted Carl. "I've nothing better to do."
His ill humor was so tragic that in spite of herself Mary laughed.
"Well, you needn't grin so over it, Miss Superiority, or go pretending you don't wish you could go to the lawn party."
"Of course I'd love to go," Mary confessed honestly. "But if we can't I don't see any use in mourning about it and talking of nothing else."