"It's snowing very fast," announced Roger, as he opened the door and stepped into the street, followed by his father. "I believe it's inches deep already."
"We must keep up a good fire in the sitting-room, for Cousin Becky is sure to arrive very cold," said Mrs. Trent as she closed the front door. "I wish there was a fireplace in your bedroom, Polly, but the oil-stove has made it feel very warm and comfortable."
The little girl ran upstairs to the room she had vacated for Cousin Becky. A heating stove with a crimson glass shade stood on the floor, and threw a rosy glow around. The apartment was small and plainly furnished, but it looked very cosy, and Polly thought their expected visitor would be very hard to please if she was not satisfied with such a nice little room. She said something of the kind when she joined her mother downstairs a few minutes later, and Mrs. Trent smiled, but made no response. She was as curious as her children to see Cousin Becky, and not a little anxious as well. How the hands of the clock seemed to drag as Polly watched them! Seven o'clock struck, and nearly another hour paced before a cab drew up before the house. Then mother and daughter hastened into the hall, and the former flung open wide the door, a welcoming smile on her face.
"Here she is, Mary!" cried Mr. Trent, as he sprang out of the cab and assisted a little lady to alight. He led her immediately into the house, whilst Roger followed labouring under a bundle of wraps and a rug. "Here she is," he repeated, "almost frozen with cold, I believe. Becky, this is my wife, and this is my little maid, Polly. Go into the sitting-room, out of the draught, whilst I see to the luggage."
Not a word had the stranger spoken yet but she had taken Mrs. Trent's outstretched hand and warmly returned the kiss which the latter had given her; then she had kissed Polly, too, and now she allowed herself to be led into the sitting-room and established in the big, leather-covered easy chair by the fire.
"How good you all are to me!" she exclaimed at length with a quick breath, which sounded very like a sob, as she took off her thick veil, revealing a countenance which, though plain, was redeemed from insignificance by a pair of bright, observant dark eyes—wonderfully soft eyes they were at the present moment, for they smiled through a mist of tears. "Why, you might have known me all your lives by the warmth of your greetings.'"
"I have heard a great deal of you from my husband," Mrs. Trent told her. "You do not seem a stranger at all."
"I am pleased to hear that. What a glorious fire! A good fire is always such a welcome, I think. And what a cosy room!" And the bright, dark eyes wandered around the apartment with its worn Brussels carpet and well-used furniture, with appreciation in their gaze.
"I believe you will find the house comfortable, though small, and—I'm afraid—rather shabby," Mrs. Trent replied.
"It is a home," Cousin Becky declared with a pleased nod. "I've been in many large, handsomely-furnished houses that have never been that. Well," she said, turning her glance upon Polly, who had been watching her intently, "do you think you will like me, my dear?"