It was just after dinner that the surprise was sprung on me. Mr.

Harbison came around to me gravely, and asked me if I felt able to go

up on the roof. On the roof, after last night! I had to gather myself

together; luckily, the others were pushing back their chairs, showing

Flannigan the liqueur glasses to take up, and lighting cigars.

"I do not care to go," I said icily.

"The others are coming," he persisted, "and I--I could give you an arm

up the stairs."

"I believe you are good at that," I said, looking at him steadily. "Max,

will you help me to the roof?"

Mr. Harbison really turned rather white. Then he bowed ceremoniously and

left me.

Max got me a wrap, and every one except Mr. Harbison and Bella, who was

taking a mass of indigestables to Aunt Selina, went to the roof.

"Where is Tom?" Anne asked, as we reached the foot of the stairs. "Gone

ahead to fix things," was the answer. But he was not there. At the top

of the last flight I stopped, dumb with amazement; the roof had been

transformed, enchanted. It was a fairy-land of lights and foliage and

colors. I had to stop and rub my eyes. From the bleakness of a tin roof

in February to the brightness and greenery of a July roof garden!

"You were the immediate inspiration, Kit," Dallas said. "Harbison

thought your headache might come from lack of exercise and fresh air,

and he has worked us like nailers all day. I've a blister on my right

palm, and Harbison got shocked while he was wiring the place, and

nearly fell over the parapet. We bought out two full-sized florists by

telephone."

It was the most amazing transformation. At each corner a pole had been

erected, and wires crossed the roof diagonally, hung with red and amber

bulbs. Around the chimneys had been massed evergreen trees in tubs,

hiding their brick-and-mortar ugliness, and among the trees tiny lights

were strung. Along the parapet were rows of geometrical boxwood plants

in bright red crocks, and the flaps of a crimson and white tent had

been thrown open, showing lights within, and rugs, wicker chairs, and

cushions.

Max raised a glass of benedictine and posed for a moment,

melodramatically.

"To the Wilson roof garden!" he said. "To Kit, who inspired; to the

creators, who perspired; and to Takahiro--may he not have expired."

Every one was very gay; I think the knowledge that tomorrow Aunt Selina

might be with them urged them to make the most of this last night of

freedom. I tried to be jolly, and succeeded in being feverish. Mr.

Harbison did not come up to enjoy what he had wrought. Jim brought up

his guitar and sang love songs in a beautiful tenor, looking at Bella

all the time. And Bella sat in a steamer chair, with a rug over her and

a spangled veil on her head, looking at the boats on the river--about as

soft and as chastened as an an acetylene headlight.




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