“The trumpery room is plenty good enough for ’em,” thought Corinda, retreating into the kitchen and cutting sundry flourishes in token of her contempt. The moment ’Lena came in sight, Mrs. Livingstone exclaimed, “Oh, mercy, which is the oldest?” and truly, poor ’Lena did present a sorry figure, Her bonnet, never very handsome or fashionable, had received an ugly crook in front, which neither her grandmother or uncle had noticed, and of which John Jr. would not tell her, thinking that the worse she looked the more fun he would have! Her skirts were not very full, and her dress hung straight around her, making her of the same bigness from her head to her feet. Her shoes, which had been given to her by one of the neighbors, were altogether too large, and it was with considerable difficulty that she could keep them on, but then as they were a present, Mrs. Nichols said “it was a pity not to get all the good out of them she could.” In front of herself and grandmother, walked Mr. Livingstone, moody, silent, and cross. Behind them was John Jr., mimicking first ’Lena’s gait and then his grandmother’s. The negroes, convulsed with laughter, darted hither and thither, running against and over each other, and finally disappearing, some behind the house and some into the kitchen, and all retaining a position from which they could have a full view of the proceedings. On the piazza stood Anna and Carrie, the one with her handkerchief stuffed in her mouth, and the other with her mouth open, astounded at the unlooked-for spectacle. “Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do?” groaned Mrs. Livingstone. “Do? Get up and dress yourself, and come and see your new relations: that’s what I should do,” answered John Jr., who, tired of mimicking, had run forward, and now rushed unceremoniously into his mother’s sleeping-room, leaving the door open behind him. “John Livingstone, what do you mean?” said she, “shut that door this minute.” Feigning not to hear her, John Jr. ran back to the piazza, which he reached just in time to hear the presentation of his sisters. “This is Carrie, and this is Anna,” said Mr. Livingstone, pointing to each one as he pronounced her name. Marching straight up to Carrie and extending her hand, Mrs. Nichols exclaimed, “Now I want to know if this is Car’line. I’d no idee she was so big. You pretty well, Car’line?” Very haughtily Carrie touched the ends of her grandmother’s fingers, and with stately gravity replied that she was well. Turning next to Anna, Mrs. Nichols continued, “And this is Anny. Looks weakly ’pears to me, kind of blue around the eyes as though she was fitty. Never have fits, do you, dear?” “No, ma’am,” answered Anna, struggling hard to keep from laughing outright. Here Mr. Livingstone inquired for his wife, and on being told that she was sick, started for her room.