Not long after breakfast was over Anna, commenced dressing Lizzie and Carrie, and as she had herself to beautify before the arrival of the train which was to bring my uncle and aunt, it is not surprising that she hurried rather faster then was wholly agreeable to the little girls, who could see no good cause for such haste, even if Herbert Langley, my aunt’s son and a youth of seventeen, was to accompany her. I, however, who was older, read things differently, and when Anna pulled Lizzie’s curly hair, and washed Carrie’s nose _up_ instead of _down_, until they both cried, and when she herself stood before the glass a whole half hour, arranging just in front of her ears two _spit curls_, sometimes called “_beau catchers_,” I shrugged my shoulders, wondering if she thought a city boy would care for her. The morning train from Boston was due about ten o’clock, and as Meadow Brook did not then boast a daily omnibus, it was necessary that some one should be at the dépôt in order to meet our expected guests. In New England it is almost an unheard-of thing for an entire family to remain away from church on Thanksgiving Day, but considering all the circumstances, it was, on this occasion, decided orthodox for us to do so, and accordingly at nine o’clock father and old sorrel started for the dépôt, which was distant about two and a half miles. Long and wearisome to us children was that waiting for his return; for stiff and prim, as starched white aprons, best gowns, and hemstitched pantalets could make us, we sat in a row like so many automatons, scarcely daring to move, lest we should displace some article of dress. In the best chamber, the room which Aunt Charlotte was to occupy, a cheerful wood fire was burning, and at least a dozen times did grandma go up there to see if all were right, now smoothing the clean, linen pillow-case, now moving the large easy-chair a little more to the centre of the room, and again wiping from the mirror some imaginary specks of dust. As she was coming down the twelfth time, the sound of sleigh-bells took us all to the window, where, instead of the costly furs and rich velvet wrappings of Aunt Charlotte, we saw the coarse plaid shawl and dark delaine hood of Aunt Betsey, while at her side was the shaggy overcoat and sealskin cap of her better half, Uncle Jason. This worthy couple, good enough in their way, lived in Union, about nine miles from Meadow Brook, where, for the last ten years, they had been in the habit of spending Thanksgiving, without ever seeming to think it possible for them to return the compliment. Although we had never seen Aunt Charlotte, we knew full well that there was nothing in common between her and Aunt Betsey, and after a long consultation it had been decided not to invite the latter, who, as it proved, did not deem an invitation necessary.