abella and Barby. Miss Henrietta is--is--not right in her mind, if you
can understand. And she is very old. She just sits in her chair all day
and mumbles. She was named for a queen--Henrietta Maria."

Aunt Priscilla gave a disapproving sniff.

"Supper's ready," said Mr. Leverett. "Come."

Warren took the small stranger by the hand, and she made a little
courtesy, quite as if she were a grown lady.

"What an airy little piece of vanity!" thought Aunt Priscilla. "And
whatever will Winthrop Adams do with her, and no woman about the house
to train her!"

Betty came and poured tea for her father and Warren. Mr. Leverett piled
up her plate, but, although the viands had an appetizing fragrance,
Doris was not hungry. Everything was so new and strange, and she could
not get the motion of the ship out of her head. But the pumpkin pie was
delicious. She had never tasted anything like it.

"You'll soon be a genuine Yankee girl," declared Warren. "Pumpkin pie is
the test."

Mr. Leverett and his son did full justice to the supper. Then he had to
go out to a meeting. There were some clouds drifting over the skies of
the new country, and many discussions as to future policy.

"So, Aunt Priscilla, I'll beau you home," said he; "unless you have a
mind to stay all night, or want a young fellow like Warren."

"You're plenty old enough to be sensible, Foster Leverett," she returned
sharply. She would have enjoyed a longer stay and was curious about the
newcomer, but when Betty brought her hat and shawl she said a stiff
good-night to everybody and went out with her escort.

Betty cleared away the tea things, wiped the dishes for her mother and
then took a place beside Warren, who was very much interested in hearing
the little girl talk. There was a good deal of going back and forth to
England although the journey seemed so long, but it was startling to
have a child sitting by the fireside, here in his father's house, who
had lived in both France and England. She had an odd little accent, too,
but it gave her an added daintiness. She remembered her convent life
very well, and her stay in Paris with her father. It seemed strange to
him that she could talk so tranquilly about her parents, but there had
been so many changes in her short life, and her father had been away
from her so much!

"It always seemed to me as if he must come back again," she said with a
serious little sigh, "as if he was over in France or down in London. It