“Father,” said his daughter Susan, “if you don’t get in and close the door, we’ll drive off and leave you standing on the sidewalk.”

Thus Cynthia went to her new friends in their own carriage.  Mrs. Merrill was goodness itself, and loved the girl for what she was.  How, indeed, was she to help loving her?  Cynthia was scrupulous in her efforts to give no trouble, and yet she never had the air of a dependent or a beneficiary; but held her head high, and when called upon gave an opinion as though she had a right to it.  The very first morning Susan, who was prone to be late to breakfast, came down in a great state of excitement and laughter.

“What do you think Cynthia’s done, Mother?” she cried.  “I went into her room a while ago, and it was all swept and aired, and she was making up the bed.”

“That’s an excellent plan,” said Mrs. Merrill, “tomorrow morning you three girls will have a race to see who makes up her room first.”

It is needless to say that the race at bed-making never came off, Susan and Jane having pushed Cynthia into a corner as soon as breakfast was over, and made certain forcible representations which she felt bound to respect, and a treaty was drawn up and faithfully carried out, between the three, that she was to do her own room if necessary to her happiness.  The chief gainer by the arrangement was the chambermaid.

Odd as it may seem, the Misses Merrill lived amicably enough with Cynthia.  It is a difficult matter to force an account of the relationship of five people living in one house into a few pages, but the fact that the Merrills had large hearts makes this simpler.  There are few families who can accept with ease the introduction of a stranger into their midst, even for a time, and there are fewer strangers who can with impunity be introduced.  The sisters quarrelled among themselves as all sisters will, and sometimes quarrelled with Cynthia.  But oftener they made her the arbiter of their disputes, and asked her advice on certain matters.  Especially was this true of Susan, whom certain young gentlemen from Harvard College called upon more or less frequently, and Cynthia had all of Susan’s love affairs—­including the current one—­by heart in a very short time.

As for Cynthia, there were many subjects on which she had to take the advice of the sisters.  They did not criticise the joint creations of herself and Miss Sukey Kittredge as frankly as Janet Duncan had done; but Jethro had left in Mrs. Merrill’s hands a certain sufficient sum for new dresses for Cynthia, and in due time the dresses were got and worn.  To do them justice, the sisters were really sincere in their rejoicings over the very wonderful transformation which they had been chiefly instrumental in effecting.

It is not a difficult task to praise a heroine, and one that should be indulged in but charily.  But let some little indulgence be accorded this particular heroine by reason of the life she had led, and the situation in which she now found herself:  a poor Coniston girl, dependent on one who was not her father, though she loved him as a father; beholden to these good people who dwelt in a world into which she had no reasonable expectations of entering, and which, to tell the truth, she now feared.