“Ain’t you ashamed, ’Lena, to be peeking?” asked Carrie, while Durward repeated—“’_Lena_! ’_Lena_! I’ve seen her before in the cars between Springfield and Albany; but how came she here?” “She lives here—she’s our cousin,” said Anna, notwithstanding the twitch given to her sleeve by Carrie, who did not care to have the relationship exposed. “Your cousin,” said Durward, “and where’s the old lady who was with her?” “The one she called _granny_?” asked John Jr., on purpose to rouse up his fiery little cousin. “No, I don’t call her _granny_, neither—I’ve quit it,” said ’Lena, angrily, adding, as a sly hit at Kentucky talk, “she’s up _stars_, sick with the rheumatism.” “Good,” said Durward, “but why are you not down here with us?” “I didn’t want to come,” was her reply; and Durward, leading her into the parlor, continued, “but now that you are here, you must stay.” “Pretty, isn’t she,” said Nellie, as the full blaze of the chandelier fell upon ’Lena. “Rath-er,” was Carrie’s hesitating reply. She felt annoyed that ’Lena should be in the parlor, and provoked that Durward should notice her in any way, and at the first opportunity she told him “how much she both troubled and mortified them, by her vulgarity and obstinacy,” adding that “she had a most violent temper.” From Nellie she had learned that Durward particularly disliked passionate girls, and for this reason she strove to give him the impression that ’Lena was such an one. Once or twice she fancied him half inclined to disbelieve her, as he saw how readily ’Lena joined in their amusements, and how good-humoredly she bore John Jr.’s teasing, and then she hoped something would occur to prove her words true. Her wish was gratified. The next day was dark and stormy, confining the young people to the house. About ten o’clock the negro who had been to the post-office returned, bringing letters for the family, among which was one for ’Lena, so curious in its shape and superscription, that even the negro grinned as he handed it out. ’Lena was not then present, and Carrie, taking the letter, exclaimed, “Now if this isn’t the last specimen from Yankeedom. Just listen,—” and she spelled out the direction—“_To Mis HELL-ENY RIVERS, state of kentucky, county of woodford, Dorsey post offis, care of Mis nichals_.” Unobserved by any one, ’Lena had entered the parlor in time to hear every word, and when Carrie, chancing to espy her, held out the letter, saying, “Here, _Helleny_, I _guess_ this came from down east,” she darted forward, and striking the letter from Carrie’s hands stamped upon it with her foot, declaring “she’d never open it in the world,” and saying “they might do what they pleased with it for all of her.” “Read it—may we read it?” eagerly asked Carrie, delighted to see ’Lena doing such justice to her reputation.