m and travel-stained.

"Told you," said Mr. Mangles to his sister, who for so lofty a soul was
within almost measurable distance of snappishness--"told you you would
have nothing to complain of in the hotel, Jooly."

But Miss Mangles was not to be impressed or mollified. Only once before
had her brother and niece seen this noble woman in such a frame
of mind--on their arrival at the rising town of New Canterbury,
Massachusetts, when the deputation of Women Workers and Wishful Waiters
for the Truth failed to reach the railway depot because they happened
on a fire in a straw-hat manufactory on their way, and heard that the
newest pattern of straw hat was to be had for the picking up in the open
street.

There had been no deputation at Warsaw Station to meet Miss Mangles.
London had not recognized her. Berlin had shaken its official head when
she proposed to visit its plenipotentiaries, and hers was the ignoble
position of the prophet--not without honor in his own country--who
cannot get a hearing in foreign parts.

"This is even worse than I anticipated," said Miss Mangles, watching the
hotel porters in a conflict with Miss Netty Cahere's large trunks.

"What is worse, Jooly?"

"Poland!" replied Miss Mangles, in a voice full of foreboding, and yet
with a ring of determination in it, as if to say that she had reformed
worse countries than Poland in her day.

"I allow," said Mr. Mangles, slowly, "that at this hour in the morning
it appears to be a one-horse country. You want your breakfast, Jooly?"

"Breakfast will not put two horses to it, Joseph," replied Miss Mangles,
looking not at her brother, but at the imposing hotel concierge with a
bland severity indicative of an intention of keeping him strictly in his
place.

Miss Netty quietly relieved her aunt of the small impedimenta of travel,
with a gentle deference which was better than words. Miss Cahere seemed
always to know how to say or do the right thing, or, more difficult
still, to keep the right silence. Either this, or the fact that Miss
Mangles was conscious of having convinced her hearers that she was as
expert in the lighter swordplay of debate as in the rolling platform
period, somewhat alleviated the lady's humor, and she turned towards the
historic staircase, which had run with the blood of Jew and Pole, with a
distinct air of condescension.

"Tell me," said Mr. Joseph Mangles to the concierge, in a voice of deep
depression which only added to the