“But you have quite an air about you, and as you recite with us in literature,—” “Mother wants me to be a little girl as long as possible, she says.” “O, indeed! When will she let you come out?” “O, we aren’t that kind of people. We don’t give balls and big affairs as a rule. We have lovely family parties, and nice teas and dinners with our friends.” “Do you know Nora Perry?” asked Pearl abruptly. “No, I think not; though it is hard to remember whom I have met—there are so many.” “She is in our class,” said Virginia, forgetting to drop her r’s. “She told me that she was going to take the first opportunity to call on you because she thinks it was your brother that she met at Virginia Beach last summer.” “Very likely,” said Cathalina, thinking “poor Phil!” “O, then you do have a brother?” continued Victoria, brightening. “Is he quite a little older than you?” “Several years.” “Nora was saying that your father is vary wealthy and that you could have all the clothes and jewelry you wanted.” This came from Pearl, and even Victoria frowned at the remark. Cathalina froze a little at this and said, “Mother says that there is nothing people are so often mistaken about as other people’s money, and, anyway, she thinks it isn’t in good taste for little girls like me to have fussy clothes.” By this time Cathalina was very much tried; but she wanted to be polite and finally succeeded in getting away from clothes, her own private affairs and boys to interest them in some other things. They asked many questions about New York and talked volubly about their own experiences of the summer. When at last the dinner gong released Cathalina, the two girls went away happily, thinking that they must have made quite an impression upon “that little Van Buskirk girl”. As Cathalina went to the bureau to choose a fresh hair ribbon, she picked up her mother’s picture in its ivory frame. “There is the ‘real article, all wool and a yard wide,’ as Father says. She looks just as she does at Father when he comes home, tender and glad to see him,—bless her! My, I’m thankful for the kind of a home I have!” and Cathalina was thinking neither of its elegance or wealth. “I never realized it, nor was half thankful enough. Those poor girls! I wish I could do something for Victoria; she has a kind, pleasant way, after all.” But Cathalina shook her head doubtfully. “Nineteen and such ideas!” For Cathalina, who did not realize the changes taking place in her own ideas of life, thought nineteen quite too late for an awakening. After dinner, as Cathalina left the dining room, she happened to be near Miss Randolph, who slipped her hand through Cathalina’s arm. “How are you, dear child?” she asked. “I have been too busy to look after you properly, but I have watched your cheeks get rosy, and the bright face you carry. Have you been homesick?” “Not much, Miss Randolph,—it’s all so interesting and I know the nicest girls!”