CHAPTER I

GOING OUT INTO THE WORLD

PRISCILLA'S trunk was neatly packed. It was a new trunk and had a nice
canvas covering over it. The canvas was bound with red braid, and
Priscilla's initials were worked on the top in large plain letters.
Her initials were P. P. P., and they stood for Priscilla Penywern
Peel. The trunk was corded and strapped and put away, and Priscilla
stood by her aunt's side in the little parlor of Penywern Cottage.

"Well, I think I've told you everything," said the aunt.

"Oh, yes, Aunt Raby, I sha'n't forget. I'm to write once a week, and
I'm to try not to be nervous. I don't suppose I shall be-- I don't see
why I should. Girls aren't nervous nowadays, are they?"

"I don't know, my dear. It seems to me that if they aren't they ought
to be. I can understand girls doing hard things if they must. I can
understand any one doing anything that has to be done, but as to not
being nervous-- well-- there! Sit down, Prissie, child, and take your
tea."

Priscilla was tall and slight. Her figure was younger than her years,
which were nearly nineteen, but her face was older. It was an almost
careworn face, thoughtful, grave, with anxious lines already deepening
the seriousness of the too serious mouth.

Priscilla cut some bread and butter and poured out some tea for her
aunt and for herself.

Miss Rachel Peel was not the least like her niece. She was short and
rather dumpy. She had a sensible, downright sort of face, and she took
life with a gravity which would have oppressed a less earnest spirit
than Priscilla's.

"Well, I'm tired," she said, when the meal was over. "I suppose I've
done a great deal more than I thought I had all day. I think I'll go
to bed early. We have said all our last words, haven't we, Priscilla?"

"Pretty nearly, Aunt Raby."