But at last, just as she was beginning to get anxious and a little vexed, a servant crossed the hall on her way to one of the rooms, and saw her.
"Good morning," said Penelope. "I have been trying to ring the bell, but I don't know where you keep it."
The servant, an elderly woman, who looked like the cook, smiled. "There's a brave many can't do that," she said. "There," showing Penelope a little knob like a button, "there 'tis; 'tis one of them new-fangled electric things. I can't abide 'em myself; they may be very fine and nice for towns, but in the country, where we don't have to count every inch of room, give me the good old sort. 'Tis such a silly noise these makes, too, like a child's toy, yet it never sounds but what I jumps nearly out of my skin."
Penelope wished one would sound then, that she might see so wonderful a sight. But she only smiled.
"I wanted to see Miss Row, please. I've come from Miss Ashe."
"Please to walk inside, miss," said cook, very amiably; and Penelope followed her through the dim hall to a large room where a lady was sitting at a table littered with vases, cans of water, and quantities of cut flowers. She was rather a severe-looking lady, and glanced up so sharply when cook opened the door and showed the visitor in, that Penelope was, for the moment, quite frightened. But it was not Penelope's way to remain frightened for long, and she soon recovered herself, as did Miss Row when she saw that the intruder was not a very formidable person.
"I have brought you these from Cousin Charlotte," said Penelope, advancing to the table with her wide, frank smile; "and I was to give them to you myself if you were at home."
Miss Row took the basket and the letter, but she was paying more attention to their bearer than to either.
"I suppose you are one of Miss Ashe's young cousins?" said Miss Row abruptly.
"Yes, I am Penelope, the second eldest."