n the poorest beggar
had, she thought bitterly,--companionship. In a listless sort of way
she picked up the remaining letter, postmarked Lloydsboro Valley,
and began to read it.

Eliot, who was busy in the adjoining room, heard an excited exclamation,
and then the call, "Oh, Eliot, Eliot! Come here, quick!" She was
stooping over the bed inspecting some clean clothes that had been sent
in from the laundry. Before she could straighten herself up to answer
the call, her elbows were seized from behind, and Eugenia began waltzing
her around backwards at a rate that made her head spin.

"Dance! You giddy old thing!" cried Eugenia. "Whoop and make a noise and
act as if you are glad! We are going to get out of our cage next week.
I'm invited to a house party. We are to spend a whole month in a
_house_, not a hotel. We're going to be part of a real live family in a
real sure enough home,--in an old Southern mansion."

"Goodness gracious, Miss Eugenia," panted Eliot, as she staggered into a
chair and settled her cap on her head. "You a'most scared me out of me
five wits, you were that sudden in your movements. I thought for a bit
as you had gone stark mad. You gave me quite a turn, you did."

Eugenia laughed. "I had to let off steam in some way," she said; "and
really, Eliot, you can't imagine how glad I am. They're cousins of
papa's, you know, the Shermans are. I used to know Lloyd when they lived
in New York. We played together every day, and fussed--my eyes, how we
fussed! But that was before she could talk plain, and she must be
eleven now, for she's about two years younger than I am."

Perching herself on the bed among piles of snowy linen, Eugenia clasped
her hands around her knees and began to tell all she could remember of
the Little Colonel. Because there was no one else to confide in, she
confided in the maid. Patient old Eliot listened to much family history
that did not interest her and which she immediately forgot, and to many
girlish rhapsodies over "Cousin Elizabeth," whom Eugenia declared was
the dearest thing that ever drew the breath of life.

As Eugenia talked on, idly rocking herself back and forth on the bed,
Eliot sorted the linen with deft fingers, laying some of it away in
drawers, sweet with dainty sachets, and putting some aside that needed a
stitch or two. Presently, as she listened, she found herself taking more
interest in the country place that Eugenia described than in anything
she had heard