"Well?" greeted half a dozen voices; and one added: "What did they say?"
Frank shook his head and dropped into the nearest chair. "I--I didn't
tell them," he stammered faintly.
"Didn't tell them!" exclaimed Ella. "Why, Frank, what was the trouble?
Were they sick? Surely, they were not upset by just seeing you!"
Frank's eyes twinkled "Well, hardly!" he retorted. "They--they're having
a party."
"A party!" shrieked half a dozen voices.
"Yes; and a tree, and a dance, and ice cream, and pink peppermints,"
Frank enumerated in one breath.
There was a chorus of expostulation; then Ella's voice rose dominant.
"Frank Bertram, what on earth do you mean?" she demanded. "Who is having
all this?"
"Father and Mother," returned Frank, his lips twitching a little. "And
they've got old Uncle Tim and half a dozen others for guests."
"But, Frank, how can they be having all this?" faltered Ella. "Why,
Father's not so very far from eighty years old, and--Mabel, Mabel, my
dear!" she broke off in sudden reproof to her young niece, who had come
under her glance at that moment. "Those are presents for Grandpa and
Grandma. I wouldn't play with them."
Mabel hesitated, plainly rebellious. In each hand was a gray worsted
bed-slipper; atop of her yellow curls was a brown neckerchief, cap
fashion.
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