her proud father, on whose arm the old gentleman was
feebly leaning. That evening, as the newly-returned party was seated
around the center-table, Carrie stole quietly to her grandfather's room,
and leaning her elbows upon his knees, looked wonderingly up into his
mild eyes, while he muttered softly, "Dear little Jennie! dear little
Jennie!"

CHAPTER XVII.

Rosalie came betimes to see her young friend, and as they walked
together around the garden, they had much to say about the long journey,
and the many strange things that Carrie had seen and heard, and then
they came back again to home events, and to the school that Rosalie had
just left, and that Carrie would soon enter, and this led them to speak
of Jennie, who was to be Carrie's roommate.

"Has she no other name?" said Carrie to Rosalie; "I hear nothing but
'Jennie, Jennie,' all the time."

"Oh! her mother's name is Dunmore--that is, her adopted mother. Her own
mother is dead; but isn't it strange, I never thought to ask her what
her real name is! You can not help loving her, Carrie, I know. In the
first place, she's beautiful, and that goes for something, I think; and
then, she's as good as she is pretty. Why, Carrie, I do believe you are
a little like her! There, throw your hat back, and let your hair fall
about your shoulders, so--'tis strange! I should think you were
sisters."

"Well, well, Rosalie, I should like to put my hat on when you have done
admiring me; I suppose I shall see this paragon of a Jennie on Monday,
if I live."

"She will not seem a paragon to you, Carrie, but a simple, loving,
truthful girl, and before you know it, you'll have your arm around her
neck and your lips to hers as if you had been friends all your life."

"What do you think of Madame La Blanche, Rosalie? Shall I be much afraid
of her?"

"Afraid of her! Why, Carrie, she's as kind as my own mother, and many a
time, when the girls are sad or home-sick, she sends for them to go to
her pleasant room, and there she amuses them with pictures and
curiosities until they forget all their sorrows. She doesn't seem like a
school-teacher, Carrie, but like some dear affectionate relative."

"Well, it is very pleasant here in my own lovely home, and I dread
leaving so soon again; and then, there's grandpa, I can not bear to be
away from him. Nobody seems to cheer him as I can--can they, grandpa?"
and the dear child sat down beside the old man upon the bench which they
had j