I was so miserable that I did not much care what happened to me, so I
submitted with a good grace to be undressed, and to swallow the hot milk
which they brought me; then with my father's photograph clasped tightly
in my hand, I cried myself to sleep on that my first night in my new
home. Somehow with the morning sunshine life seemed to wear a different
aspect, and instead of telling Aunt Agatha that I could never be happy
in England, and begging her to send me straight back to San Carlos by
the very next ship, as I had quite made up my mind to do the night
before, I went downstairs to breakfast full of curiosity to make the
acquaintance of my cousins. I had heard them for some time, as during
the last hour the whole upper story of the house had seemed to be
pervaded with the noise of small shrill voices, the stamping of feet,
the slamming of doors, and finally the melancholy sound of the minor
scales on the piano, the performer appearing to get into complications
with the sharps and flats, and occasionally to relapse altogether into
the major key.

Aunt Agatha came bustling into my bedroom as I fastened the last button
of my dress (the voyage had taught me to dispense with Juanita's help),
and she stood and surveyed me with a critical eye. Her first impression
of me had been hardly a fair one, so I trust that this morning I
presented a more favourable appearance.

"Yes," she said slowly, "you have your father's eyes, but otherwise
you're the image of your mother: the same slight build, and the same
light hair and colour which I remember so well in my poor sister-in-law.
Dear me! how little I thought when I said good-bye to her that I should
never see her again! You must try to make yourself at home, my dear,
among us all. It's hard, I dare say, to settle down into new ways, but
if you'll try your best, we will do our part, and I hope you'll soon
like England as well as the country you've left behind. Now come with
me, and say good-morning to your cousins."

There were so many of them, and of such various ages, that when I
entered the nursery I might have supposed myself for the moment in an
infant school. From Lucy, the eldest, who was six months older than I,
to the baby in long clothes, they descended in a series of eight little
steps, all blue-eyed and auburn-haired, all sturdy of limb and lusty of
voice, and all dressed in stout brown holland pinafores, warranted to
resist the hardest of wear and tear.

"I'm