"I--I'll be ready directly, sister."

"I hope so, indeed," said Miss Deborah severely, and moved with
deliberate dignity from the room, while Miss Ruth, much fluttered, took
her dress from the high bedstead, which had four cherry-wood posts,
carved in alternate balloons and disks, and a striped dimity valance.

She still realized the importance of the right ribbon, and the
responsibility of choice oppressed her; but it was too late for any
further thought. She shut her eyes tight, and, with a trembling little
hand, picked up the first one she touched. Satisfied, since Fate so
decided it, that gray was the right color, she pinned it at her throat
with an old brooch of chased and twisted gold, and gave a last glance
at her swinging glass before joining her sister in the parlor. The
excitement had brought a faint flush into her soft cheek, and her eyes
were bright, and the gray ribbon had a pretty gleam in it. Miss Ruth gave
her hair a little pat over each ear, and felt a thrill of forgotten
vanity.

"It's high time you were down, Ruth," cried Miss Deborah, who stood on
the rug in front of the blazing fire, rubbing her hands nervously
together,--"high time!"

"Why, they won't be here for a quarter of an hour yet, sister," protested
Miss Ruth.

"Well, you should be here! I do hope they won't be late; the venison is
to be taken out of the tin kitchen precisely at five minutes of seven.
Do, pray, sister, step into the hall and see what o'clock it is. I really
am afraid they are late."