“How lovely she is,” thought Aunt Marcia, as Randy with Helen ascended the staircase toward the room which was to be Randy’s own, during her stay in Boston.

“How handsome your dear old aunt is,” said Randy to Helen, as they walked along the upper hall.  “Her hair is like the frost, and her eyes just twinkle, twinkle, like stars when the night is cold.”

“Why, what a pretty thought,” said Helen.  “Aunt Marcia was a great beauty, and a portrait of her when she was presented at court, hangs in the drawing-room.  Sometimes I think she is even handsomer now, with her fine gray eyes and waving hair.  If you are pleased with her, Randy, I assure you that she is delighted with you; and now here we are at the room which is to be yours while you are with us.”

“Oh, what a lovely room,” cried Randy.  “Roses, pink roses on the walls, and real roses in the vase on my table, and such a dear little bed.  Why, the quilt has roses on it, too!  ’Tis like a fairy tale, and makes me feel like a princess.  Oh, if mother and father and little Prue could see—­”

Again a sob arose in her throat, although she bravely repressed it.

“Not a tear to-night, Randy dear,” said Helen, “but instead let me tell you what will cheer you, and make you feel nearer to them all to-night.  This little desk is for your use, and all your letters home will be written here, where you will find paper and pens and ink awaiting you.  Now, would you not like to write just a little note, saying that you arrived safely, and Thomas shall post it, so that it shall reach its destination as soon as possible.  You are too tired to-night to write much of a letter, but to-morrow you can write twenty pages if you choose.”

“And if I did, in all the twenty pages I could not tell them how much I miss them, and yet how glad I am to be here,” said Randy.  “Isn’t it odd to be glad and sorry at the same time?

“Well, I’ll write the little note now, that they may receive it as soon as possible.”

“And when it is written, come down to the hall where I will meet you, and when we have given the note to Thomas, we will have dinner.”

“Dinner!” said Randy, “why I thought everyone had dinner at twelve o’clock!”

“In the city we have dinner at six, and lunch at one, and never a supper at all,” said Helen, smiling at Randy’s frank look of surprise.  “To-night dinner will be later, because your train was delayed, and I wished you to have time for your note.”

Randy hastened to write the little letter, and then proceeded to freshen her toilet, and when with the envelope in her hand she tripped down the hall where Helen stood waiting, she looked every inch the fresh, sweet Randy of the New England hills.  Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, and the soft little ringlets curled over her temples in a manner most bewitching.

Oh, how grand the dining-room looked to the girl who had never seen anything finer than the parson’s house in the country village.