The invitations were all accepted, as she had known they would be. Social gatherings were scarce on their remote neck of land, and the family approved of her wish to entertain for the affianced couple, though they attributed this idea to Joseph.

Theo impressed Eleanore into service, and between them they bullied and inspired the servants to activity. Ever distrustful of Phoebe's cooking, Theo imported a free negro caterer from Georgetown. Dido, of course, was not permitted by Phoebe in her kitchen, but even Dido could not rise to the culinary heights to which Theo was soaring. She was delighted to find that the caterer was capable of a dish on which she had set her heart. It was called 'Preserve of Fowl,' though this title in no way did justice to its intricate mysteries. It was fashioned like the nest of Chinese boxes which Aaron had once given her for a toy. A dove must be inserted into a partridge, the partridge into a guinea hen, this into a wild duck, then into a capon, the capon into a goose, and last all the amalgamated birds were enclosed in a mammoth turkey. Each fowl was first boned and seasoned with herbs and rich gravy. There were to be four of these creations, and Theo delegated a small army of helpers to the perspiring caterer—for the preparation took days.

She supervised the garnishing of the rooms herself. The floors were polished until they gleamed like brown mirrors. She impounded all the supplies of myrtleberry candles for the candelabra, and on Saturday afternoon filled every cranny of the rooms with massed armfuls of whatever blossoms she could find untouched by the frost.

She surveyed her handiwork critically: the rooms still looked a trifle bare. An idea struck her. She ran out to the clustering live-oaks and dragged from them great bunches of the hanging moss. She draped this over the branched sconces to try the effect; then, calling two of the servants, she had them bring in basketfuls and fasten the greenish-gray streamers to the ceilings, until the rooms were filled with a cloudy, swaying mistiness. The Alstons so admired their everlasting moss and considered it, for no reason at all, yet another proof of their superiority to the North. Well, they should have it, she thought, plenty of it!

Joseph came in from the rice fields just as she was finishing. He had been watching the women burn the stubble of cut stalks—necessary fall procedure to prepare the land for its fresh crop. He stopped dead in the doorway.

'What in the world have you been doing? What's all this truck in here for?' he demanded, with marked displeasure.