It was the first day of July, and Maplehurst was in a state of great excitement, for sixteen people were coming by the afternoon train, and among them Alex., his mother and sister and cousin. Mrs. Groves, with her staff, had been there a week or more, and had carefully drilled her subordinates with regard to their duties, especially the waitresses. There were four of them, all from Boston, except Sherry,—one a saleslady, one a stenographer and one from a restaurant, who felt that she knew quite as much as Mrs. Groves, if not more, because she had been in a restaurant three or four years. But that dignitary soon set her right by telling her that waiting upon every sort of people in a restaurant or hotel was very different from waiting upon such guests as were coming to Maplehurst. Sherry had listened very respectfully to the directions, but there was a look upon her face which said that she, too, had an opinion as well as Polly, the girl No. 4. She had dined once or twice in great state at the Saltuses’ in Buford, and she remembered what she had seen and knew that in some respects it differed from Mrs. Groves’ rules, and when they were told that in no event were they to take in or out more than one dish at a time, she ventured to say, “Excuse me, Mrs. Groves, but that will take so long and necessitate a great many steps, as the kitchen is so far from the dining-room, and there is the anteroom between, and are there not different ways of serving?” The look on Mrs. Groves’ face would have disconcerted one less self-contained than Sherry, whose expression did not change at all at the lady’s reply: “There can be but one right way. I have told you what that is, and as for _steps_, you are hired to take them if you walk miles in doing it.” Sherry bent her head with what she meant to be a civil bow, but Mrs. Groves fancied she saw in it signs of insubordination, and resolved to hold a tight rein on No. 1, who evidently was above her business, and who looked too much like a lady, and was quite too pretty in her black dress and white apron with ruffled shoulder straps and the cap set so jauntily upon her curly hair. On her arrival at Maplehurst Mrs. Groves had found a box of caps sent by Amy Marsh, who had selected them, and for which Alex. had paid. He was shopping with his sister, who had asked his opinion with regard to different styles. “Great guns! I don’t know about styles of caps. Must they wear them?” he said. “Our maids do,” Amy answered. “Why shouldn’t these?” “Oh, ah, well—er—I suppose they must if you and mother say so. But I fancy these are different,—picked, you know,” Alex. said; “salesgirls and schoolma’ams and that sort of thing, you know. Mrs. Groves writes that one is an awful high stepper. She may not take to caps. Some don’t.”