Quentina smiled oddly, then she sighed. "It wasn't true, of course. I knew it couldn't be." "What wasn't true?" "Something I found in one of father's church papers about Rules for Living in New England. I cut it out. Wait a minute--it's here, somewhere!" And, to the girls' amazement, she dived into a pocket at the side of her dress, pulling out several clippings which seemed, mostly, to be verse. One was prose, and it was on this she pounced. "Here it is. Listen." And she read: "'Rules for Living in New England. You must be descended from the Puritans, and should belong to the Mayflower Society, or be a D. A. R., a Colonial Dame, or an S. A. R. You must graduate from Harvard, or Radcliffe, and must disdain all other colleges. You must quote Emerson, read the _Atlantic Monthly_, and swear by the _Transcript_. You must wear glasses, speak in a low voice, eat beans on Saturday night, and fishballs on Sunday morning. Always you must carry with you a green bag, and you should be a professional man, or woman, preferably of the literary variety. You should live not farther away from Boston than two hours' ride, and of course you will be devoted to tombstones, relics, and antiques. You may tolerate Europe, but you must ignore the West. You must be slow of speech, dignified of conduct, and serene of temper. You must never be surprised, nor display undue emotion. Above all, you must be _cultured_.' "Now you see you haven't done all those things," she declared, as she finished the article. "I reckon there are a few omissions--specially on my part," laughed Genevieve. "But you are happy there?" "Indeed I am!" "How I do wish I could go," sighed Quentina. "I should love Boston, I know. Alice did--though she still liked Texas better." "Well, I know Boston would love you," chuckled Tilly, unexpectedly. "Girls, wouldn't she be a picnic in Sunbridge? She'd be more of a circus than you were, Genevieve!" "Thank you," bowed Genevieve, with mock stiffness. "Oh, we loved you right away--and we should Quentina, of course." "Thank you," bowed Quentina, in her turn, laughingly. CHAPTER XII THE OPENING OF A BARREL It was a merry afternoon and evening that the Happy Hexagons spent at Quentina's home, and it was still a merrier time that they had getting settled for the night. Even Tilly said at last: "Well, Quentina, it's lucky a lame foot doesn't have ears. I don't know what your mother will say to us!" "Only fancy if Miss Jane were here," shivered Genevieve. It was just as the family were finishing breakfast the next morning that there came a knock at the door, and a man rolled in a large barrel. "Oh, it's the missionary barrel--our barrel from the East!" cried Quentina. "I wonder now--what do you suppose there is in it?" "There isn't anything, I reckon, except old things," piped up Rob, shrilly. Mrs. Jones colored painfully. "Robert, my son!" she remonstrated, in evident distress.