Jeanne could hardly sleep for the joy of her lovely white night-dress.

Never had the neglectful Shannons provided her with anything so white and soft and lovely as that night-dress for _daytime_, let alone night.

Disturbing, too, was the motion of the train, the alarming things that rushed by in the darkness, the horrible grinding noises underneath, as if the train were breaking in two and shrieking for help. How _could_ one sleep!

But finally she did. And then her father's hand was on her shoulder.

After that, only half awake, she was getting into her clothes. Oh, _such_ a jiggly, troublesome business! And one rope garter had broken right in two.

Next they were off the train and eating breakfast in a great big noisy station that seemed to be moving like the cars. Jeanne was whisked from this into something that really moved--a taxicab. After that, another train--a _day_ coach, her father said. Jeannette was thankful that she didn't have to go to bed in _that_; but oh, how her head whirled!

And now, with the darkness gone, all the world was whizzing past her window. A shabby world of untidy backyards and smoke-blackened houses, huddled horribly close together--at least the Duvals had had no untidy neighbors and certainly there had been plenty of elbow room. But now the houses were farther apart. Presently there were none. The country--Oh, that was _much_ better. If one could only walk along that woodsy road or play in that pleasant field!

"Jeanne," said Mr. Duval, touching her hand softly, "I'll tell you now where we are going. It happens that you have a grandfather. His name is William Huntington--your mother's father, you know. Some weeks ago I wrote to an old friend to ask if he were still living. He is. Your mother's brother Charles and his family live with him: a wife and three children, I believe. Your aunt is undoubtedly a lady, since your uncle's marriage was, I understand, pleasing to his family. Your mother was away from home at the time of our marriage and I met only her parents afterwards. Your grandfather I could have liked, had he liked me. Your grandmother--she is dead now--seemed the more unforgiving. Yet, neither forgave."

"Do they know about _me_?" asked Jeanne.

"They knew that you were living at the time of your mother's death. I want them to _see_ you. If they like you, it will be a very good thing for you. It is, I think, the _only_ way that I can give you what your mother would have wanted you to have; the right surroundings, the proper friends, education, accomplishments. You are nearly twelve and you have had _nothing_. If anything were to happen to me, I should want you with your mother's people rather than with Mollie. This--visit will--help you, I think."

"Shall I like my grandfather? And my uncle? I've never had any of _those_, you know."

"I hope so."

"But not as well as you, Daddy, not _half_ as well--"

"We won't talk about it any more just now, if you please. See that load of ripe tomatoes--a big wagon heaped to the top. We don't have such splendid fruit in our cold climate. See, there is a farm. Perhaps they came from there. Such big barns and comfortable houses."

"Daddy," said Jeanne, "what does a lady do when her stocking keeps coming down and coming down? This morning I broke the rope--"

"The rope!" exclaimed astonished Mr. Duval.

Jeanne hitched up her skirt to display the remaining wisp of rope.

"Like that," she said.

"My poor Jeannette," groaned Leon Duval, "it is certainly time that you were with your mother's people. You need a gentlewoman's care."

"But, Daddy. You said we'd be on this train all day, and it's only nine now. My stocking drops all the way down. Haven't you a bit of fish-twine anywhere about you?"

"Not an inch," lamented Mr. Duval. "But perhaps the porter might have a shoestring."

"Shoestring? Ya.s.s, suh," said the porter. "Put it in your shoe foh you, suh?"

"No, thank you," replied Mr. Duval, gravely; but Jeannette giggled.

"Daddy, if you'll spread your newspaper out a good deal, I think I can fix it. There! That's ever so much better."

They spent the night in a hotel; Jeanne in a small, but _very_ clean room--the very cleanest room she had _ever_ seen. She examined and counted the bed-covers with much interest, and admired the white counterpane.

But she liked the outside of her snowy bed better than the inside, after she had crawled in between the clammy sheets.

"I wish," shivered Jeanne, "that Annie and Sammy were here with me--or even Patsy, if he _does_ wiggle. It's so smooth and cold. I don't believe I like smooth, cold places."

Poor little Cinder from the Cinder Pond! She was to find other smooth, cold places; and to learn that there were smooth, cold persons even harder to endure than chilly beds.

CHAPTER X

THE ARRIVAL

In the morning Jeanne dressed again in her new clothes. Then the travelers had breakfast. By this time, you may be sure, Jeanne was very grateful for her father's past instructions in table manners. They had proved particularly useful in the dining-car, where Mr. Duval had added a few more lessons to fit napkins, finger-bowls, and lamb chops.

After a leisurely meal, they got into a street car in which they rode for perhaps twenty minutes along paved streets lined with high buildings or large houses very close together. Then they got out and walked along several blocks of very hard pavement, until they came to a large gray house with a tall iron fence. They climbed a number of stone steps leading to a tightly closed, forbidding door.

"Your grandfather lives here," said Mr. Duval, ringing the bell.

A very stiff butler opened the door, ushered them in, and told them to be seated in a very stiff reception-room, while he presented the letter that Mr. Duval had handed him. Jeanne eyed the remote ceiling with wonder and awe.

The butler returned presently with six persons at his heels. They had evidently risen hastily from the breakfast table, for two of them had brought their napkins with them. A very tremulous old man, a large, rather handsome woman, a stout, but decidedly mild-looking gentleman, two tall girls, and a boy; all looking as if they had just had a shock of some kind. They did not shake hands with Mr. Duval. They all gazed, instead, at Jeanne. A great many eyes for so small a target. Jeanne could feel herself shrinking under their piercing glances. For what seemed like a very long time, no one spoke. But oh, how they looked and looked and looked! Finally, Mr. Duval broke the embarra.s.sing silence.

[Ill.u.s.tration: JEANNE, LEFT ALONE WITH THE STRANGERS, INSPECTED THEM WITH INTEREST]

"You have read my letter?" he asked, addressing the older man.

"Yes."

"Then pardon me, if I suggest that you grant me an interview apart from these young people. I have much to say to you, Mr. Huntington."

"In here," said the mild gentleman, opening a door.

"Remain where you are, Jeannette," prompted her father.

Jeannette, left alone with the strangers, inspected them with interest.

The girls looked like their mother, she decided; rather smooth and polished on the outside--like whitefish, for instance, with round, hard grayish eyes. The boy's eyes were different; yellow, she thought, or very pale brown. His upper lip lifted in a queer way, as if nothing quite pleased him. They were all rather colorless as to skin. She had seen children--there had been several on the train, in fact--whose looks were more pleasing.

She began to wonder after a while if somebody ought not to say something. Was it _her_ place to speak? But she couldn't think of a thing to say. She felt relieved when the three young Huntingtons began to talk to one another. Now and again she caught a familiar word; but many of their phrases were quite new to her. At any rate, they were not speaking French; she had heard her father speak that. She had heard too little slang to be able to recognize or understand it.

Jeanne had risen from her chair because her father had risen from his.

She thought now that perhaps she ought to resume her seat; but no one had said, as Old Captain always did: "Set right down, Honey, an' stay as long as ye like." Visiting Old Captain was certainly much more comfortable.

Still doubtful, Jeanne took a chance. She backed up and sat down, but Harold, yielding to one of his sudden malicious impulses, jerked the chair away. Of course she landed on the floor. Worst of all, her skirt pulled up; and there, for all the world to see, was a section of frayed rope dangling from below her knee. The shoestring showed, too.

For half a dozen seconds the young Huntingtons gazed in silence at this remarkable sight. Then they burst into peals of laughter. The fact that Jeanne's eyes filled with tears did not distress them; they continued to laugh in a most unpleasant way.

Jeanne scrambled to her feet, found her chair, and sat in it.

"Who are you, anyway?" asked the boy. "The letter you sent in gave the family a shock, all right. And we've just had another. Elastic must be expensive where you came from; or is that the last word in stocking-supporters? Hey, girls?"