"From Paris," she vouchsafed. "Dad and Mother have got anchored at last. The journey must have been a startler. Paris is so full of Americans, it's like a little New York." "Why do you call it 'Parr-is'?" sniggered Sadie. "It's more like the French than your way of saying it, at any rate," retorted Diana smartly. "This letter's been four days in coming through." "You might give me the stamp." "Certainly not. You don't deserve it. I wish I were in Paris, too. Yes, I shall call it 'Parr-is'. I'm beginning to want some of my own folks." "I've never met any Americans, except you," volunteered Vi. "What are they like?" "What do you imagine they're like?" "Like the pictures of 'Uncle Sam', with a limp shirt front, and a big tie, and a goatee beard. I want to meet some real out-and-out Yankees." "Won't your cousins from Petteridge ever come over to see you, Di?" asked Magsie. "Perhaps they may, sometime," replied Diana thoughtfully. "I should say it's quite within the bounds of possibility, considering they only live ten miles away." "Gee-whiz! I guess I'd just admire to make their acquaintance!" mocked Vi. "I reckon they'll be _some_ folks!" Diana's eyes were fixed upon her with an inscrutable look, but she answered quite calmly: "I'll take care to introduce you if they come." It was in the course of the next few days that a parcel for Diana arrived from Petteridge Court. What it contained nobody saw except herself, for she did her unpacking in private. Judging from certain outbursts of chuckling, the exact cause of which she steadily refused to reveal, the advent of her package gave her profound satisfaction. The next Saturday afternoon was wet: one of those hopelessly wet days that are apt to happen in a land of lakes and hills. Banks of mist obscured the fells; the garden walks were turned to running rivers, the bushes dripped dismally, and cascades poured from the gutters. The school, which had been promised a country tramp, looked out of the windows with woeful disappointment. The seniors consoled themselves by holding a committee meeting, from which all but their elect selves were rigidly excluded. The juniors took possession of the play-room, and relieved their spirits by games which made the maximum of noise. Several of the intermediates peeped in, but, finding the place a mixture of a bear-garden and the Tower of Babel, they retired to the sanctuary of their own form-room, where they sat making half-hearted efforts to read or paint, and grousing at the weather. "Is _every_ Saturday going to be wet?" demanded Magsie in an injured voice. "Seems like it!" mourned Jess Paget. "Of course it can be beautifully fine on Friday, when we have to stop in and do dancing; and it just keeps all the rain for Saturday. I call it spiteful! I wish I knew what to do with myself. I'm moping." "Get a book out of the library." "I loathe reading." "Do some painting." "You know I can't paint." "Go and romp with the juniors."