"Yes, but a steam-engine makes you think of the city. You know that you are not cut off from everything, and that sometime you can go back." "Why Angelina, I hope that you are not homesick?" There had been a suspicious quiver in Angelina's voice. "Not exactly homesick, oh, no, I feel perfectly at home with you and Mrs. Stratford, but still--well, you see, Miss Martine, we haven't as many neighbors as we had in the city. I knew something about every family in the Belhaven, but here I don't see how I'll begin to get acquainted." "Cheer up, Angelina," said Martine, pleasantly. "Don't let a little thing like that trouble you. A person of your sociable disposition can make acquaintances anywhere. But it's more dignified to proceed slowly. You and I will be busy enough the next few days getting settled. I have an idea that mother may need us now." "There," cried Angelina, as they stood inside the little entry. "It's small, Miss Martine, but it's real neat, isn't it?" "Yes, it's neat," and Martine looked at the steep flight of stairs that almost tumbled down into the narrow hall, separating the two front rooms. "It's neat enough, but I am glad we have a strip of red carpet for the stairs. Uncarpeted, the paint might soon wear off, and besides they would be rather noisy. But are you sure that you have finished your kitchen-work, Angelina?" "Well, I just haven't; I'm glad you reminded me." So Angelina hurried to the back of the house, where soon her voice was heard singing shrilly above the clatter of dishes. "Martine," said Mrs. Stratford, as her daughter entered the sitting-room at the left of the hall, "the wall paper was very successful. What would this room have been without it?" "These pale yellow roses certainly brighten it up, and the color is not only cheerful, but increases the size of the room. This little cupboard in the wall is fascinating, and when we get some of our china in, it will be truly æsthetic." "If only it opened on a piazza," sighed Mrs. Stratford. "It is singular enough that so many New England houses are built without any pretence of a porch or piazza." "Oh, that can be remedied," responded Martine cheerfully. "There's a very attractive nook between those two trees, and we can send to town for an awning, and if we lay down a rug, and move out a sofa, and some chairs and a table, why we'll have a regular little summer house." Martine, pausing almost out of breath, noted with regret that her mother did not smile. A shadow crossed Mrs. Stratford's face. "Mother does not like it here," thought Martine, "neither do I, but I must like it." "Come, mother," she said aloud, taking her mother by the arm. "Wasn't it a good idea to have the walls of this dining-room painted blue? You see it gets so much sun, and this gives it the effect of coolness."