Beth flew off to get her hat. Aunt Rebecca and Miss Tappan heard the front door slam and looked out of the window. They saw Beth wildly struggling into her jacket as she tore off down the street to find her best beloved playmate and tell her the great good fortune that had befallen her. They knew that the child trod upon air, that it seemed to her that fairies were speeding her flying feet, showering upon her gifts beyond belief. They were glad in her joy, but Aunt Rebecca knew that she would sorely miss her little Beth. CHAPTER II WHEN THE TRAIN PULLED OUT Beth sat by the window in spotless order. Her hands were clasped in her lap; she was so still that her favorite doll, sitting stiffly opposite to her, seemed, by contrast, to be romping. But the reddened tips of the clasped fingers betrayed the severe pressure that held them so motionless, and the pallor of the usually rosy round face, and the dilated blackness of the blue eyes told the effort which kept the little girl so quiet at her post. Beth was watching for the arrival of her Aunt Alida Cortlandt’s maid, who was to carry her off to the crowded metropolis. Beth had never seen a maid--she had seen “girls,” “help,” even “servants,” but a maid! Somehow she had gathered from her beloved story-books vague ideas of maids as exalted persons who beautifully served beautiful princesses, or noble ladies. The coming of one of these to the brown village house which had been Aunt Rebecca’s home for more than fifty years, and Beth’s home for a fifth of that time was the beginning of the wonderful experiences into which the maid would lead the little girl. Outside in the hall stood Beth’s small trunk, locked and strapped, and plainly tagged in Aunt Rebecca’s clear handwriting. The knowledge that it was there made it harder for Beth to watch quietly out of the window. Aunt Rebecca had rebelled against Mrs. Cortlandt’s suggestion that Beth should be fitted out with winter clothing in New York. Aunt Rebecca “guessed that her nephew’s daughter wasn’t going to visit her mother’s folks as if she hadn’t had a friend in the world till they remembered to ask her!” She had prepared what seemed to Beth a lavish wardrobe, and had packed it in the little trunk that Beth had always admired as it stood in the attic under the eaves. Miss Tappan had made the navy blue coat and gown to match which Beth wore then, ready to travel in. She liked it so much that she was glad that it had three tucks in the skirt, so that if New York air made her grow fast the skirt could be let down three tucks’ length, and she could wear her new suit all winter. It had a hat to match; a round navy blue felt, trimmed with navy blue ribbon that was not precisely the same shade as the hat, but was the nearest to it of all the ribbons Miss Ludd, the milliner, had. It also had a bunch of blue quills that caused Beth delightful anxiety, because of their tendency to split at their tips when she put her hat into its box.