morning, looking a little dim and travel-stained.

"Told you," said Mr. Mangles to his sister, who for so lofty a soul was
within almost measurable distance of snappishness--"told you you would
have nothing to complain of in the hotel, Jooly."

But Miss Mangles was not to be impressed or mollified. Only once before
had her brother and niece seen this noble woman in such a frame
of mind--on their arrival at the rising town of New Canterbury,
Massachusetts, when the deputation of Women Workers and Wishful Waiters
for the Truth failed to reach the railway depot because they happened
on a fire in a straw-hat manufactory on their way, and heard that the
newest pattern of straw hat was to be had for the picking up in the open
street.

There had been no deputation at Warsaw Station to meet Miss Mangles.
London had not recognized her. Berlin had shaken its official head when
she proposed to visit its plenipotentiaries, and hers was the ignoble
position of the prophet--not without honor in his own country--who
cannot get a hearing in foreign parts.

"This is even worse than I anticipated," said Miss Mangles, watching the
hotel porters in a conflict with Miss Netty Cahere's large trunks.

"What is worse, Jooly?"

"Poland!" replied Miss Mangles, in a voice full of foreboding, and yet
with a ring of determination in it, as if to say that she had reformed
worse countries than Poland in her day.