All saw with what hauteur she declined it, but only one, and that was Anna, heard her as she said, “Keep off, Penoyer; don’t make a donkey of yourself.”  It was strange, Anna said, “how far into his boots Penoyer tried to draw himself,” while at each fresh flash of Agnes’ keen black eyes, he winced, either from fear or sympathy.

The restraint which had surrounded the little company gave way beneath the lively sallies and sparkling wit of Agnes, who, instead of seeming amazed at the country girls, was apparently as much at ease as though she had been entertaining a drawing-room full of polished city belles.  When at last the party broke up, each and every one was in love with the little Albany lady, although all noticed that Carrie seemed troubled, watching Agnes narrowly; and whenever she saw her tete-a-tete with either of her companions she would instantly draw near, and seemed greatly relieved on finding that Penoyer was not the subject of conversation.

“I told you so,” was grandmother’s reply, when informed of all this.  “I told you so.  I knew Car’line warn’t going to make out no great.”

Juliet and Anna thought so too, but this did not prevent them from running to the windows next morning to see Penoyer as he passed on his way to the cars.  I, who with Lizzie was tugging away at a big board with which we thought to make a “see-saw,” was honored with a graceful wave of monsieur’s hands, and the words, “Au revoir, ma chere Marie.”

That day Phoebe, Aunt Eunice’s hired girl, came to our house.  Immediately Juliet and Anna assailed her a multitude of questions.  The amount of knowledge obtained was that “Miss Hovey was a lady, and no mistake, for she had sights of silks and jewelry, and she that morning went with Phoebe to see her milk, although she didn’t dare venture inside the yard.  But,” added Phoebe, “for all she was up so early she did not come out to breakfast until that gentleman was gone.”

This was fresh proof that Penoyer was not comme il faut, and Anna expressed her determination to find out all about him ere Agnes went home. I remembered “Dr. Watts” and the invitation to the party, and secretly hoped she would find out nothing bad.

CHAPTER IV.

COUSIN EMMA.

Agnes had been in town about two weeks, when my home was one morning thrown into a state of unusual excitement by the arrival of a letter from Boston, containing the intelligence that Cousin Emma Rushton, who had been an invalid for more than a year, was about to try the effect of country life and country air.