Mrs. Bryant slipped away from her guests long enough to smile upon her, and tell her to eat a good supper, that everything was wonderful, and she couldn’t thank her enough; then went back to the parlor where the chatter of relatives long separated with many years to check up in a short time made a din almost amounting to a church social. There was the uncle who had certain jokes that he had to tell over, and the cousin who boasted, and the cousin who wanted to recount all the past, and the aunt who wanted to forget the past and dilate on her house in New York, and her place in Maine, and her winter in Florida and the trip she was going to take abroad this summer, and with it all the poor, eager little Bryants hardly got in a word. The strange young woman in the kitchen might naturally be forgotten under such circumstances, especially as they were planning to take all their guests into the city in time for the late train. So Joyce washed out the dish towels and slipped out the back door with only the moon to light her to her little new house. CHAPTER XI Joyce wondered, as she went cautiously through the grass lest she stumble in the darkness, whether her house was going to be at all habitable, and what she should do if it were not. She had no mind to trouble Mrs. Bryant any further, neither did she care to have that good woman know how thoroughly she was adrift in the world without a spot to lay her head. Very likely Mrs. Bryant might offer her a bed for the night, it would be like her good nature, and yet, she was an utter stranger, and she shrank from accepting such a favor. Taking an entire stranger into one’s home was a big thing to do, when one had no introduction whatever except that one could cook.