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General approbation of this plan is expressed, and Mr. Merivale is about to escape, muttering something about "Mother fidgeting herself into fiddle-strings," when he is once more seized upon, and Molly, who is generally to the fore where speaking is concerned, asks in a stage-whisper, "What about the music for the dancing, father?"

"Why, bless my soul, there's plenty of time for that, surely! Now, let me see, what evening is fixed?—the 27th, isn't it? Very well, then, this is only the 13th; so you have a clear fortnight before you."

"Yes, father, I know," says persevering Molly; "but you see, dear old Dad, we want to feel that it is all settled, and nothing left on our minds, you know!"

"O, do you, now?" says Mr. Merivale, pinching his daughter's rosy cheek. "Well, I wish I could get everything in my business settled off so satisfactorily, and nothing left on my mind. Well, well, we will see; I will go and look up someone to play in a few days—don't you fuss about it, I won't forget. Now, really, children, I must go down. Let me go, there's good girls."