But breakfast is ready, Miss.

I came to call you." "Thank you," said Beth, turning to walk beside the housekeeper.
According to Aunt Jane's instructions the breakfast was served in her own room, and presently Louise, dressed in a light silk kimona, came in bearing her tray "to keep her cousin company," she laughingly announced.
"I should have slept an hour longer," she yawned, over her chocolate, "but old Misery--who seems rightly named--insisted on waking me, just that I might eat.

Isn't this a funny establishment ?" "It's different from everything I'm used to," answered Beth, gravely; "but it seems very pleasant here, and everyone is most kind and attentive." "Now I'll dress," said Louise, "and we'll take a long walk together, and see the place." So it happened that Kenneth clattered down the road on the sorrel mare just a moment before the girls emerged from the house, and while he was riding off his indignation at their presence at Elmhurst, they were doing just what his horrified imagination had depicted--that is, penetrating to all parts of the grounds, to every nook in the spacious old gardens and even to the stables, where Beth endeavored to make a friend of old Donald the coachman.
However, the gray-whiskered Scotsman was not to be taken by storm, even by a pretty face.

His loyalty to "the boy" induced him to be wary in associating with these strange "young females" and although he welcomed them to the stable with glum civility he withheld his opinion of them until he should know them better.
In their rambles the girls found Kenneth's own stair, and were sitting upon it when Phibbs came to summon Louise to attend upon Aunt Jane.
She obeyed with alacrity, for she wished to know more of the queer relative whose guest she had become.
"Sit down," said Aunt Jane, very graciously, as the girl entered.
Louise leaned over the chair, kissed her and patted her cheek affectionately, and then shook up the pillows to make them more comfortable.
"I want you to talk to me," announced Aunt Jane, "and to tell me something of the city and the society in which you live.

I've been so long dead to the world that I've lost track of people and things." "Let me dress your hair at the same time," said Louise, pleadingly.
"It looks really frowsy, and I can talk while I work." "I can't lift my left hand," said the invalid, flushing, "and Phibbs is a stupid ass." "Never mind, I can make it look beautiful in half a jiffy," said the girl, standing behind the chair and drawing deftly the hairpins from Aunt Jane's scanty grey locks, "and you can't imagine how it pleases me to fuss over anyone." It was surprising how meekly Aunt Jane submitted to this ordeal, but she plied the girl with many shrewd questions and Louise, busily working in a position where the old woman could not see her face, never hesitated for an answer.