Nan laid down a copy of Shakespeare she had found. “I don’t know,” she replied. “Perhaps we’d better not take any liberties. I don’t suppose it will be long before we shall be summoned.”
“Do look at this carpet,” continued Mary Lee; “isn’t it hideous? And whoever heard of keeping a carpet down all the year round? And those portraits are ghastly. Is the lady Cousin Maria, do you reckon, and is the little girl Cousin Phebe? I seem to distinguish a faint likeness.”
“I should think it might be she. Let’s look through the photographs, then maybe we can trace her all along succeeding years.”
They took the red morocco album over to one of the windows and began to turn its pages, once or twice happening upon some photograph familiar to them. “That’s Cousin Martin Boyd,” cried Nan. “He is in Aunt Helen’s album at home, the old one that was her mother’s. And oh, Mary Lee, the lady in hoops and a funny bonnet is Grandma Corner herself. It isn’t a bit like the lovely portrait that used to be at Uplands, but I recognize her. And there is father when he was a youngster. Don’t you remember it? I fancy that very fierce-looking individual in Confederate uniform is Cousin Maria’s father. The others must all be Hoopers by the cut of the jib.”
“I don’t think they’re a very interesting lot,” remarked Mary Lee, viewing the series of stiffly posed persons, bearded men in long-tailed coats, women in hooped petticoats and beruffled gowns worn long on the shoulder, and with hair arranged in waterfall curls. “They take much better photographs now,” she commented.
“Of course. Probably the art was in its infancy when these were taken.”
“Certainly these people weren’t,” returned Mary Lee. “They look as ancient as the hills, even the children.”
“Here comes Cousin Phebe with an order for our release,” said Nan. So they put the album back on the table and stood waiting.
“Mother’s ready now,” announced Miss Phebe. “She was quite overcome and I had to give her some drops, but now that she’s over the excitement of the meeting she is quite happy and wants to see Grace Corner’s grandchildren, she says.”
The girls filed in procession across the hall to the door of the sitting-room which Miss Phebe opened disclosing a bright, cheerful room with plants in the windows, a red table-cloth on the table, a bright carpet, a sideboard set off with silver and glass. By an open fire sat a little white-haired old lady in black gown and white cap who looked up expectantly as the children entered. “Come right along, my dears,” she said in a pleasant voice. “This is a great day for me. You’ll excuse my rising, I’m so stiff with rheumatism.”