"But, girls, dear girls, please don't say such things," she expostulated. "We are very, very grateful--indeed we are; and it is right kind of them to remember us far-away missionaries with boxes and barrels!" "'Missionary'!" sputtered Genevieve. "'Missionary'! I should think somebody had better be missionary to them, and teach them what to send. Dolls and skates, indeed!" "But, my dear," smiled Mrs. Jones, "those might have been just the things--in some places; and besides, some of the boxes are--are better than this. Indeed they are!" It was at this point that Cordelia came forward hurriedly, and touched Mrs. Jones's arm. Her face was a little white and strained looking. "Mrs. Jones," she faltered, "I think I ought to tell you. I'm a minister's niece, and I've seen lots of missionary boxes packed. I know just how they do it, too. I know just how thoughtless they--I mean we--are; and I just wanted to say that I'm very, very sure the next time we pack a box for any missionary, we'll--we'll see that our old shoes are mates, and that we don't send dolls to boys!" There was a shout of gleeful appreciation from the boys, but there were only troubled sighs and frowns on the part of Mr. and Mrs. Jones. "Dear me! I--I wish the barrel hadn't come when you were here," regretted the minister's wife; "for indeed the things are all very, very nice. Indeed they are!" "And now let's go out to the flowers," proposed Quentina. "Maybe a new nasturtium has blossomed." All but one of the girls had left the room when Mr. Jones felt a timid touch on his arm. "Mr. Jones, could I speak to you--just a minute, please?" asked a low voice. "I'm Cordelia Wilson, you know." "Why, certainly, Miss Cordelia! What can I do for you?" he answered genially, leading the way to the tiny study off the sitting room. "Well, I'm not sure you can do anything," replied Cordelia, with hesitating truthfulness. "But I wanted to ask: _do_ you know anybody in Texas by the name of Mr. John Sanborn, or Mrs. Lizzie Higgins, or Mr. Lester Goodwin, or Mr. James Hunt?" The minister looked a little surprised. "N-no, I can't say that I do," he said, slowly. Cordelia's countenance fell. "Oh, I'm so sorry! You see I thought--being a minister out here, so,--you might know them." "But--Texas is quite a large state," he reminded her, with a smile. "I know," sighed the girl. "I've found that out." "Are these people friends of yours?" "Oh, no; they're just a son, and a brother, and a cousin, and a runaway daughter that I'm looking up for Sunbridge people." "Oh, indeed!" The minister hoped his voice was politely steady. "Yes, sir. Of course I haven't had a chance to ask many people, yet--only one or two of the cowboys. One of them was named 'John,' but he wasn't my John--I mean, he wasn't the right John," corrected Cordelia with a pink blush. The minister coughed a little spasmodically behind his hand. As he did not speak Cordelia went on, her eyes a little wistful.