She left the room and Anna Mary removed Beth’s coat; then they both waited. It did not seem long to Beth before another maid came and began to lay a place at the table; she was so much interested in looking at the sparkling glass, the massive silver on a highboy at one end of the room, at the pictures, the carvings, all the marvels surrounding her, that she would willingly have waited far longer for the coming of supper. But now the deft maid silently spread a drawn-work cloth at one end of the table, set it with china so frail, so beautiful that Beth was not quite sure whether it was china or confections. Then she brought steaming chocolate in a pot that matched the tall cup which had especially fascinated Beth, cold chicken in a bed of cresses, the thinnest bread that Beth had ever seen, cakes that made all else of no consequence, and two or three fruits preserved in their own syrupy juices. “Supper is served for your young lady, Anna Mary,” said the maid speaking low. Anna Mary pulled back Beth’s heavy chair and the wondering child took her place. But this time she could hardly eat, delicious as everything was. The breakfast room had so filled her that food had no place after it. “You’re not makin’ out much, Miss Beth, but maybe it’s as well. It’s likely late for the likes of you to be suppin’,” said Anna Mary kindly. “I go to bed at half-past eight at home,” said Beth, glancing at the little sparkling clock that struck once to say that it was one-quarter after nine. “Well then, we’ll have to hurry to catch up with the time that’s behind us,” said Anna Mary, and took Beth’s hand to get her away from a room that she saw had fascinated her. She led her to an elevator in the hall. Mrs. Hodgman again met them at its door. “The little girl has been given the blue willow room on the third floor, Anna Mary,” she said. “Good-night, my dear; I hope you will rest well and waken very happy in these new surroundings.” “Thank you,” said Beth. “I hope you will, too.” She was so bewildered at finding an elevator waiting for her in a private house that she did not know what she said; hitherto elevators had meant to her stores or hotels in Boston. This one was padded and cushioned in golden browns; it had mirrors all around its sides above its padded wainscoting. Beth felt as if she were being put into a jewel box, for the elevator was small. “I know exactly how my garnet ring felt when it came,” she said. Fortunately Anna Mary did not hear; she would have thought Beth’s journey had tired her into delirium. The boy in a mulberry uniform who ran the elevator stopped it almost as soon as he had started it. “This way,” said Anna Mary, and took Beth up the hall to a door which she opened. The room it revealed was lighted, the bedclothing was turned back, a fire burned on the hearth. Beth stood still uttering a faint: “Oh!”