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."

"Well, sit down for a little while, and rest before you walk back again."

Penelope, not being directed to any particular seat, and seeing by the
window a little low, upright chair, evidently made for small people like
herself, went over and seated herself on it with much satisfaction.

But Miss Row, glancing up presently from her letter, felt no satisfaction
at all; in fact she gave quite a scream when she saw her. "Oh, child,"
she cried. "Get off that chair this moment, quick! quick! It isn't meant
to be sat on; it is far too old and valuable. Oh dear! you might have
broken it right down, or--oh dear, oh dear, to think that out of all in
the room you should have chosen that one!"

Penelope sprang to her feet at once. At first she felt