I mustn’t take time to describe all the place to you, must I? But I cannot pass on without telling you my first impression of the great hall by which we entered. There was a high paneling in carved wood, and a sweeping staircase, with carved panels, and a fireplace, all beautifully carved too. The dark, shining floor was covered with strips of gray carpeting, and at the doors and the great window of leaded glass on the landing were silvery curtains with bands of white and black. Then there was the clock of teakwood, and a lovely statue of a Diana in pinky-white marble, so delicate the light came through her arm. An unusual room, you must admit that. To the returning princess, who has seen no grandeur save that to be found in your beautiful home, Carin, it was rather—well, rather overpowering. Mother McBirney had sent my clothes to me, of course, and now my little bag was taken up to my room, and I was told to follow Mary Greenville Female Seminary Simms—Semmy for short—the old benevolent-faced colored woman. We went up the wonderful stairway, I saying nothing and breathing pretty hard, but trying not to let anyone know it, and then along the upper hallway to a shuttered door. It was opened for me and I went in to what was to be my room. So quaint, so complete was it, Carin, that I hardly know how to describe it to you. The walls were papered with a design of pine leaves on pearly white; the draperies were white muslin and green silk; the furniture was of white wood, upholstered in green. There were only two pictures, both of the sea; one with wild waves dashing over a rock in the bright sunshine, the other a quiet, wonderful picture of rippling miles of water the color of the inside of a shell. The sun must have been rising, but one did not see it—only banks of soft cloud, with a gray veil before them. Can you imagine it all? Then, as each drawer was opened, or the closets, or the armoire, sweet odors of dried herbs came forth. Everywhere was fragrance and peace. “You-all trunks will be comin’ along by express I reckon,” said Semmy as she began to unpack my bag. I wondered what Aunt Lorena would wish me to say. Should I let my black maid know that all I owned was there before her—not enough to fill two of the drawers in the deep bureau? Then it occurred to me that it was not necessary to tell her anything at all. “How nicely you have put everything away,” I said to her. “Here is a little basket that I made with my own hands. Will you let me give it to you?” So I got rid of Semmy and her questions, and was left alone wondering what I should do next. Nothing I possessed went in any way with my grand surroundings, but I reflected that Mother McBirney would have decided, in such circumstances, that one could at least be neat and clean.