Stan Goodman, Beth Trapaga, Tonya Allen, and the Online Distributed

Proofreading Team.

MRS. DAY'S DAUGHTERS

By

MARY E. MANN

  "The common growth of Mother Earth
  Suffices me—her tears, her mirth,
  Her humblest mirth and tears."

CONTENTS

CHAPTERI Their Large HoursII Something Wrong At The OfficeIII Forcus's Family AleIV DisasterV Deleah's ErrandVI Sour MisfortuneVII Husband And FatherVIII The Way OutIX For The Widow And The FatherlessX Exiles From Life's RevelsXI The Attractive BessieXII The Attractive DeleahXIII The Gay, Gilded SceneXIV A Tea-Party In Bridge StreetXV The Manchester ManXVI For BernardXVII What Is It Now?XVIII The Dangerous ScroogeXIX When Beauty CallsXX Sir Francis Makes A CallXXI In For It!XXII The Importunate Mr. GibbonXXIII Deleah Has No DignityXXIV The Cold-Hearted FatesXXV To Make ReparationXXVI A HouseholderXXVII Promotion For Mrs. DayXXVIII At Laburnum VillaXXIX A Prohibition CancelledXXX Deleah Grows UpXXXI Bessie's HourXXXII The Man With The Mad EyesXXXIII The Moment Of Triumph

CHAPTER I

Their Large Hours

It was three o'clock in the morning when the guests danced Sir Roger deCoverley at Mrs. William Day's New Year's party. They would as soon havethought of having supper without trifle, tipsy-cake, and syllabub, in thosedays, as of finishing the evening without Sir Roger. Dancing had begun atseven-thirty. The lady at the piano was drooping with weariness. Violin and'cello yawned over their bows; only spasmodically and half-heartedly thethrum and jingle of the tambourine fell on the ear.

The last was an instrument not included in the small band of theprofessional musicians, but was twisted and shaken and thumped on hand andknee and toe by no less an amateur than Mr. William Day himself.

The master of the house was too stout for dancing, of too restless andirritable a temperament for the role of looker-on. He loved noise, always;above all, noise made by himself. He thought no entertainment reallysuccessful at which you could hear yourself speak. He would have preferreda big drum whereby to inspirit the dancers, but failing that, clashed thebells of the tambourine in their ears.

"The tambourine is such fun!" the dancers always said, who, out of breathfrom polka, or schottische, or galop, paused at his side. "A dance at yourhouse would not be the same thing at all without your tambourine, Mr. Day."

He banged it the louder for such compliments, turned it on his broad thumb,shook it over his great head with its shock of sand-coloured and grey hair;making, as the more saturnine of his guests confided in each other, "a mostinfernal row."

But an exercise of eight hours is long enough for even the most agreeableperformance, and by the time Sir Roger de Coverley had brought theprogramme to an end the clash and rattle of the tambourine was onlyfitfully heard. Perceiving which, Deleah Day, younger daughter of thehouse, a slight, dark-haired, dark-eyed girl of sixteen, left her place inone of the two sides of the figure, extending nearly the length of theroom, ran to her father, and taking the tambourine from him pulled upon hishands.

"Yes, papa! Yes!" she urged him. "Every year since I was able to toddle youhave danced Sir Roger with me—and you shall!"

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