This piece of news operated differently upon different members of our family.  Juliet exclaimed, “Good, good; Carrie Howard won’t hold her head quite so high now, for we shall have a city lady, too.”  Anna was delighted, because she would thus have an opportunity of acquiring city manners and city fashions.  Sally said snappishly, “There’s enough to wait on now, without having a stuck-up city flirt, faintin’ at the sight of a worm, and screechin’ if a fly comes toward her.”  Mother had some misgivings on the subject.  She was perfectly willing Emma should come, but she doubted our ability to entertain her, knowing that the change would be great from a fashionable city home to a country farmhouse.  Grandmother, who loved to talk of “my daughter in the city,” was pleased, and to console mother, said: 

“Never you mind, Fanny, leave her to me; you find victuals and drink, and I’ll do the entertaining.”

Among so many opinions it was hard for me to arrive at a conclusion.  On the whole, however, I was glad, until told that during Cousin Emma’s stay our garret gambols must be given up, and that I must not laugh loud, or scarcely speak above a whisper, for she was sick, and it would hurt her head.  Then I wished Cousin Emma and Cousin Emma’s head would stay where they belonged.

The letter was received on Monday, but Emma would not come until Thursday; so there was ample time for “fixing up.”  The parlor-chamber was repapered, the carpet taken up and shaken, red and white curtains hung at the windows, a fresh ball of Castile soap bought for the washstand, and on Thursday morning our pretty flower beds were shorn of their finest ornaments with which to make bouquets for the parlor and parlor-chamber.  Besides that, Sally had filled the pantry with cakes, pies, gingerbread, and Dutch cheese, to the last of which I fancied Emma’s city taste would not take kindly.  Then there was in the cellar a barrel of fresh beer; so everything was done which could be expected.

When I went home for my dinner that day I teased hard to be allowed to stay out of school for one afternoon, but mother said “No,” although she suffered me to wear my pink gingham, with sundry injunctions “not to burst the hooks and eyes all off before night.”  This, by the way, was my besetting sin; I never could climb a tree, no matter what the size might be without invariably coming down minus at least six hooks and eyes; but I seriously thought I should get over it when I got older and joined the church.

That afternoon seemed of interminable length, but at last I saw father’s carriage coming, and quick as thought I threw my grammar out of the window; after which I demurely asked “to go out and get a book which I had dropped.”  Permission was granted and I was out just in time to courtesy straight down, as father pointing to me, said:  “There, that’s our little crazy Mollie,” and then I got a glimpse of a remarkably sweet face, which made the tears come in my eyes, it was so pale.