“You have not seen Annie yet,” she said; “she ran away the moment she knew you had come. I thought she might be going to meet you, but it seems she did not. You must love her a heap, and I know you will. She’s so beautiful in her mourning, and bears her trouble so sweetly. I wish everybody was as good as Annie Graham. She has never been heard to say one bitter thing against the South. She only pities and prays and says they are misguided.” “And pray, who is this paragon of excellence that I must love a heap?” Jimmie asked, when Rose had exhausted the list of Annie’s virtues, and paused for a little breath. “Who was she? Hadn’t he heard of Annie? Had _Will_ failed to tell him of her adopted sister?” Rose asked in some astonishment. Will had proved remiss in that one particular duty, and never, until this moment, had Jimmie heard that Rose had an adopted sister; and if _Rose_, why not himself? Wasn’t he Rose’s brother? “Certainly you are,” Rose replied; “but I’m not sure Annie will let you call her sister, because you’re,—you’re,—well, you see, Annie is real good, and, as I told you, prays, just as hard for Southern soldiers as for ours, that is, prays that they may be Christians, and that their sick and wounded may be kindly cared for, but of course she wants us to beat, and knows we shall, but I guess she does not think of you just as she does of Tom, though she never saw either. She would not go up to the depot to meet you, and I wanted her to so much. She said, too, it was not good taste, or something like that, to hang out our banner on a _Rebel’s_ account, and she acts so funny generally about your coming home that I hope you’ll do your best to be agreeable, and make her like you. Will you Jimmie?” and Rose looked up at her brother in such a comical, serious way, that he laughed aloud, promising to do his best to remove all prejudice from _Miss_ Graham’s mind, and asking who she was and where she came from. “I’m sure I don’t know where she came from,” Rose replied, a little uncertain how to grapple with the Carleton pride, which existed in Jimmie as well as the rest of them. “She’s a lady, as any one can see, and possessed of as much refinement as we often find in Boston. She can’t help it, Jimmie, if she is poor. It don’t hurt her one bit, and I’m getting over those foolish notions cherished by our set at home. Will says she came of a good family and might have married a millionnaire, old enough to be her father, but she wouldn’t. She preferred a mechanic, George Graham, the most splendid looking man you ever saw. He’s dead now, poor fellow. Will took care of him, and brought him home; that’s why Annie lives with me.”