s
elsewhere. Uncle John stayed with Grandfather till he died; then he went
abroad, and was gone many years; and since he came back, he has lived
here alone. I suppose he has grown a recluse, and does not care to see
people. I know Papa often and often begged him to come and make us a
visit, and once or twice the time was actually set; but each time
something happened to prevent his coming, and he never did come. I think
he would have come last year, when dear Papa died, but he had had some
accident, and had injured his foot so that he could not walk."

"Pa read us the letter you wrote him then," said Peggy, with an awkward
attempt at condolence. "He said he thought you must be a nice girl."

The tears came quickly to Margaret's eyes, and she turned her head to
hide them. Peggy instantly plunged into a description of her nine
brothers and sisters, and their life on the great Western farm where
they lived; but she was hardly under way when the demure Susan tapped at
the door, and said with gentle firmness that she had come to show the
young ladies their rooms.

There was a sudden clutching of hats, cloaks, and bags, and the next
moment the three maidens were ascending the wide staircase, casting
looks of curiosity and wonderment about them.

"What beautiful twisted balusters!" whispered Margaret.

"And such queer old pictures!" said Peggy. "My! How they stare!
Wondering who we are, I suppose."

Arrived in the wide upper hall, Susan threw open the doors of three
rooms, two side by side, the third opposite.

"This is yours, Miss Montfort," she said. "This is the young lady's from
the South, and this the other young lady's. Mr. Montfort arranged it all
before he left."

"How kind and thoughtful!" cried Margaret.

"How precise and formal!" murmured Rita.

Peggy said nothing, but stared with round eyes. These rooms were not
like the great whitewashed chamber at home, where she and her three
sisters slept in iron bedsteads. These rooms were not large, but oh, so
pretty and cosy! In each was an open fireplace, with a tiny fire
burning,--"just for looks," Susan explained. Each contained a pretty
brass bedstead, a comfortable chair or two, and curtains and cushions of
flowered chintz. Rita's chintz showed deep red poppies on a pale buff
ground; Peggy's was blue, with buttercups and daisies scattered over
it; while Margaret's--oh, Margaret's was not chintz after all, but
old-fashioned white dimity, with a bewilderment o