guest chamber," he said, "and see that
it is made comfortable as soon as possible."

The servant bowed in acquiescence, wondering who had come, and feeling
not a little surprised at the description given by John of the woman he
had let into the house, and who now in the parlor was looking around her
in astonishment and delight, thinking she had found New York at last,
and condemning herself for the feeling of homesickness with which she
remembered the Bowery, contrasting her "cluttered quarters" there with
the elegance around her. "Was Katy's house as fine as this?" she asked
herself, feeling intuitively that such as she might be out of place in
it, just as she began to fear she was out of her place here, bemoaning
the fact that she had forgotten her capbox, with its contents, and so
could not remove her bonnet, as she had nothing with which to cover her
gray head.

"What shall I do?" she was asking herself, when Mark appeared, explaining
that his mother was absent, but would be at home in a short time.

"Your room will soon be ready," he continued, "and meantime you might
lay aside your wrappings here if you find them too warm."

There was something about Mark Ray which inspired confidence, and in her
extremity Aunt Betsy gasped, "I can't take off my bunnet till I get my
caps down to Mrs. Tubbs'. Oh, what a trouble I be."

Not exactly comprehending the nature of the difficulty, Mark suggested
that she go without a cap until he could send for them; but Aunt Betsy's
assertion that "she was grayer than a rat," enlightened him with regard
to her dilemma, and full permission was given for her "to sit in her
bonnet" until such time as a messenger could go to the Bowery and back.
In this condition she had better be in her own room, and as it was in
readiness, Mark himself conducted her to it, the stern gravity of his
face putting down the laugh which sprang to the waiting maid's eyes at
the old lady's ejaculations of surprise and amazement that anything
could be so fine as the house where she so unexpectedly found herself a
guest.

"She is unaccustomed to the city, but a particular friend of mine; so
see that you treat her with respect," was all the explanation he
vouchsafed to the curious girl.

But that was enough. A friend of Mr. Ray's must be somebody, even if she
sat with two bonnets on instead of one, and appeared ten times more
rustic than Aunt Betsy, who breathed freer when she found herself alone
upstairs, a