And 'Phemie was right in _that_ prophecy. They had Lucas meet the train for Mrs. Castle on Saturday, and 'Phemie went with him. There were supplies to buy for the house and the young girl made her purchases before train time. A little old lady in a Paisley shawl and black, close bonnet, got out of the train. The porter lifted down an ancient carpet-bag--something 'Phemie had never in her life seen before. Even Lucas was amazed by the little old woman's outfit. "By cracky!" he whispered to 'Phemie. "You reckon _that's_ the party? Why, she's dressed more behind the times than my grandmother useter be. Guess there must be places on this airth more countrified than Bridleburg." But 'Phemie knew that Mrs. Castle's letter had come from an address in Easthampton which the Brays knew to be in a very good neighborhood. Nobody but wealthy people lived on that street. Yet Mrs. Castle--aside from the valuable but old-fashioned shawl--did not look to be worth any great fortune. "Are you the girl who wrote to me?" asked the old lady, briskly, when 'Phemie came forward to take the carpet-bag. Mrs. Castle's voice was very resonant; she had sharp blue eyes behind her gold-bowed spectacles; and she clipped her words and sentences in a manner that belied her age and appearance. "No, ma'am," said 'Phemie, doubtfully. "It was my sister who wrote. _I_ am Euphemia Bray." "Ha! And what is your sister's name? What does the 'L' stand for?" "Lydia." "Good!" ejaculated this strange old lady. "Then I'll ride out to the farm with you. Such good, old-fashioned names promise just what your sister said: An old-fashioned house and old-time ways. If 'L!' had meant 'Lillie,' or 'Luella,' or 'Lilas'--and if _you_, young lady, had been called 'Marie'--I'd have taken the very next train back to town." 'Phemie could only stare and nod. In her secret thoughts she told herself that this queer old woman was doubtless a harmless lunatic. She did not know whether it was quite best to have Lucas drive them to Hillcrest or not. "You got a trunk, ma'am?" asked the long-legged youth, as the old lady hopped youthfully into the buckboard, and 'Phemie lifted in the heavy carpet-bag. "No, I haven't. This is no fashionable boarding house I'm going to, I s'pose?" she added, eyeing 'Phemie sternly. "Oh, no, ma'am!" returned the girl. "Then I've got enough with me in this bag, and on my back, to last me a fortnight. If I like, I'll send for something more, then." She certainly knew her own mind, this old lady. 'Phemie had first thought her to be near the three-score-and-ten mark; but every moment she seemed to get younger. Her face was wrinkled, but they were fine wrinkles, and her coloring made her look like a withered russet apple. Out of this golden-brown countenance the blue eyes sparkled in a really wonderful way.