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 CHAPTER III.

ARRIVAL.

Peter stared, but said nothing. Not even when the agent ran back from the carriage with a little satchel and a strap full of shawls and picture-books. The hack rolled away, the keen March wind chilled the young Californian, who stood, doll in hand, respectfully waiting admission to the warm hall beyond the door. Finally, since the servant seemed to have been stricken speechless, she found her own voice, and said:

"Please, boy, I'd like to see my Uncle Joe."

"Your—Uncle—Joe, little miss?"

"That's what I said. I must come in. I'm very cold. If this is Baltimore, that the folks on the cars said was pretty, I guess they didn't know what they were talking about. I want to come in, please."