Naturally the larger ones belonged to Irene, and without questioning they were ordered to her room, while the smaller one was taken to the room intended for Rena, who had not yet attracted a great share of our notice. We had seen Miss Irene take Mrs. Parks’ hand and hold it very high, reminding me of a picture I once saw of some Congo women shaking their clenched fists in token of their pleasure at meeting each other. What Irene said we could not hear distinctly, except that it was something about “being pleased to see you”; then, without a look at the McPherson coachman, or Sam, who had sprung to his seat with Nixon, after a glance around for a sight of Lottie, she came up the walk, followed by Rena. Unlike her cousin, Rena had stopped a moment to speak to Nixon, and as her voice was of that quality which is readily heard at a distance, we heard her say, “Please tell Mr. McPherson that the Misses Burdick thank him for his kindness in sending his carriage for them;” then to Sam: “Good-by, boy. I don’t remember your name. It was nice in you to help us and tell us the places.” “Sam, a boy, and he nineteen! I like that!” Lottie said, her lip curling scornfully, while Rena would have fallen in her estimation, if there had been any estimation to fall from. She was so overshadowed by her stately cousin that we had scarcely thought of her except that she was short and slight and plainly dressed, compared with Irene, who, if she had had Paris, and London, and New York placarded on her back, could not have advertised them better than she did with her attire. They were in the house by this time, coming up the stairs, and were soon in their rooms, where Mrs. Parks, who was with them, hoped they would find themselves comfortable. “I shall like mine,” Rena said, “and such lovely roses. Did they grow in your garden? I smelled them the moment I came in.” She had her face close to the fruit-jar in which I had put a cluster of the finest roses from my room. “No, they came from Mr. McPherson. He sent ’em with his compliments,” Mrs. Parks replied, and instantly Rena’s cheeks were like the flowers whose perfumes she was inhaling. “Mr. McPherson,” Irene repeated, beginning to notice the flowers, for which she did not really care as Rena did. “What a delightful old man he must be. I hope we may see him, and perhaps we ought to send him a note of thanks.” Rena did not respond. There was a strange feeling of unrest stirring in her heart as she thought of the attention which was unquestionably offered because of herself. “I almost wish I were myself,” she was thinking, when Mrs. Parks, who was standing in the door between the two rooms, asked if there was anything she could do. She spoke to Irene, who replied: “No, thanks; or, yes, if your maid would be so good as to bring me a glass of ice-water. I am very thirsty.” At the mention of maid Mrs. Parks looked flurried a moment, then in her straightforward way, she said: