Anna, who was above such weaknesses as a love for cats, sniffed contemptuously, and thought her cousin must be a very silly, childish person; “but then grandma,” she added, “you may as well call her by her right name, which isn’t Rennet, but _Reinette_, with the accent on the last syllable.” “Oh, yes, I forgot,” said grandma. “Phil told me not to call her Rennet, but what’s the difference? I mean to do my duty by her, and show Fred Hetherton that I know what is what. We must all go up in percession to meet ’em, and, then, go with ’em to the house, and your mother is goin’ to fix me a new cap in case we stay to tea, and if it ain’t too hot I shall wear my _morey_, and if it is, I guess I’ll wear that pinkish sprigged muslin with my _lammy_ shawl, and you, Anny, must wear your best clothes, for we don’t want ’em to think we are _back-woodsy_.” There was no danger of Anna’s wearing anything but her best clothes, and for the next three days she busied herself with thinking what was most becoming to her, deciding at last upon white muslin and a blue sash, with her long lace scarf fastened with a blush-rose, her white chip hat faced with blue and turned up on one side, with a cream-colored feather drooping down the back. This she thought would be altogether _au fait_, and sure to impress Reinette with the fact that she was somebody. Anna was getting quite interested in her new cousin, with whom she meant to stand well; and though she said the contrary, she was really glad that Ethel and Grace Rossiter were both absent, thus leaving her to represent alone the young-ladyhood of the family. Such was the state of affairs on the morning when the paper announced that the Russia had reached New York the previous afternoon—a piece of news which, though expected, threw Mr. Beresford, and Phil, and the Fergusons into a state of great excitement.