After arranging every thing in the best manner she could, Anna exchanged her white morning negligée for a light silk, and drawing on a pair of gloves, went below to await the return of Rupert. Hardly had she sat down, when she perceived several ladies coming up the walk, while a loud knocking at the street-door almost immediately, as certainly announced them to be visiters. Supposing, of course, Kitty would obey the summons, she remained quietly turning over a book of engravings. The knocking was several times repeated, and Anna beginning to feel uneasy at the delay, when— “_Miss_ Forbes!” screamed Kitty, from the kitchen, “why on arth don’t you let them folks in! I guess I aint a going to leave my mopping, and my old gown all torn to slits!” For a moment indignation at the insolence of her servant crimsoned Anna’s brow. This was, indeed, an episode in the life of a city belle—to be ordered by a menial to attend the door—to appear before strangers in the capacity of a waiter. Happily, the unceremonious entrance of the ladies relieved her perplexity. She received her visiters with that ease and grace of manner so peculiarly her own, at once placing the whole party upon the footing of old acquaintances, and _almost_ disarming even the most prejudiced, by her affability and sweetness. To have wholly done so would have been a miracle indeed, so much were many of her new neighbors for doubting that any good or usefulness could pertain to one brought up amid the frivolities of the city. CHAPTER III. The little village of D—— was primitive in its tastes and habits. Remote from any populous city or town, it was neither infected by their follies, nor rendered more refined by association. Railway speed had not there conquered both time and space; the journey to the city was yet a tedious one of days, over high hills and rocky roads, consequently, an event not of very frequent occurrence. Yet, however these “dwellers of the valley” might lack for refinement, or the high-bred polish of fashionable society, there was a great deal of honest worth and intelligence among them—true hospitality, and genuine benevolence both of precept and practice. True, scandal here, as elsewhere, found wherewith to feed her craving appetite; and busy-bodies, more at home in their neighbor’s kitchens than their own, walked the streets inspectingly; yet, as the same may be said of almost every place, let not our little village be therefore condemned.