CHAPTER IX.
A HAPPY TEA Exactly five minutes before six the party arrived in great state, for Bab and Betty wore their best frocks and hair-ribbons, Ben had a new blue shirt and his shoes on as full-dress, and Sancho's curls were nicely brushed, his frills as white as if just done up.
No one was visible to receive them, but the low table stood in the middle of the walk, with four chairs and a foot-stool around it.

A pretty set of green and white china caused the girls to cast admiring looks upon the little cups and plates, while Ben eyed the feast longingly, and Sancho with difficulty restrained himself from repeating his former naughtiness.

No wonder the dog sniffed and the children smiled, for there was a noble display of little tarts and cakes, little biscuits and sandwiches, a pretty milk-pitcher shaped like a white calla rising out of its green leaves, and a jolly little tea-kettle singing away over the spirit-lamp as cosily as you please.
"Isn't it perfectly lovely ?" whispered Betty, who had never seen any thing like it before.
"I just wish Sally could see us now," answered Bab, who had not yet forgiven her enemy.
"Wonder where the boy is," added Ben, feeling as good as any one, but rather doubtful how others might regard him.
Here a rumbling sound caused the guests to look toward the garden, and in a moment Miss Celia appeared, pushing a wheeled chair, in which sat her brother.

A gay afghan covered the long legs, a broad-brimmed hat half hid the big eyes, and a discontented expression made the thin face as unattractive as the fretful voice, which said, complainingly,-- "If they make a noise, I'll go in.

Don't see what you asked them for." "To amuse you, dear.