It was a merry afternoon and evening that the Happy Hexagons spent at Quentina's home, and it was still a merrier time that they had getting settled for the night. Even Tilly said at last:  
"Well, Quentina, it's lucky a foot doesn't have ears. I don't know what your mother will say to us!"
 
"Only fancy if Miss Jane were here," shivered Genevieve.
 
It was just as the family were finishing breakfast the next morning that there came a knock at the door, and a man rolled in a large barrel.
 
"Oh, it's the barrel—our barrel from the East!" cried Quentina. "I wonder now—what do you suppose there is in it?"
 
"There isn't anything, I reckon, except old things," piped up Rob, .
 
Mrs. Jones colored painfully.
 
"Robert, my son!" she , in evident .
 
"Well, mother, you know there isn't—most generally," defended Robert.
 
"And if they are new, they're the sort of things we couldn't ever use," added Ned.
 
"Boys, boys, that will do," commanded the minister, quickly.
 
The minister, with Paul's help, had the barrel nearly open by this time.
 
"It isn't from Sunbridge, is it?" asked Genevieve.
 
"No—though we get them from there sometimes; but this is from a little town in Vermont," replied Mrs. Jones. "We had a letter last week from the minister. He—he apologized a little; said that times had been hard, and that they'd had trouble to fill it. As if it wasn't hard enough for us to take it, without that!" she finished bitterly, with almost a .
 
"Rita, my dear!" murmured her husband, in a low, voice.
 
Mrs. Jones dashed quick tears from her eyes.
 
"I know; I don't mean to be ungrateful. But—times have been a little hard—with us!"
 
Silent, and a little , the Happy Hexagons stood at one side. Genevieve, especially, looked out from troubled eyes. Very slowly Genevieve was waking up to the fact that not every one in the world had luxuries, or even what she would call ordinary comforts of living. Mrs. Jones, seeing her face, hurriedly.
 
"There, there, girls, please forget what I said! It was very kind of those good people to send the barrel—very kind; and I am sure we shall find in it just what we want."
 
"I know what you hope will be there," cried Bob, "a new coat for Father, and a dress for you, and some underclothes for us boys. I heard you say so last night."
 
"Yes; and Quentina wants a ribbon—not dirty ones," observed Rob.
 
"Robert!" cried Quentina, very red of face. "You know I don't expect anything of the sort."
 
The barrel was open now, and eagerly the family gathered around it. Even Mrs. Jones's chair was forward so that she, too, might peep into it.
 
First there was a great quantity of newspapers—the people had, indeed, found trouble to fill it, evidently. Next came a pincushion—faded pink satin, frilled with not over-clean white lace.
 
"I can use the lace for a collar," cried Quentina, taking prompt possession of the cushion. "I'm right glad of this!"
 
A picture came next in a frame—evidently somebody's early attempts to paint nasturtiums in oil.
 
"There's a rival for your posies out in the yard," murmured Tilly in Quentina's ear.
 
A pair of skates was pulled out next, then three dolls, one minus an arm.
 
"These might be good—on ice," remarked Paul, who had picked up the skates.
 
"Do you ever have any ice to skate on, here?" asked Bertha.
 
"Not in the part of Texas I've ever been in," he sighed.
 
Mrs. Jones was ruefully smoothing the one-armed doll's flimsy dress.
 
"I—I told them there were no little girls in the family," she said, her worried eyes seeking her husband's face. "It—it's all right, of course; only—only these dolls did take space."
 
Some magazines came next, and a few old books, upon which the boys fell greedily—though the books they soon threw to one side as if they were of little interest.
 
Undergarments appeared then, plainly much worn and patched. To Genevieve they looked quite impossible. She almost cried when she saw how eagerly Mrs. Jones gathered the motley pile into her arms and began to sort them out with little of satisfaction.
 
Next in the barrel were found an ink-stained , a bath-robe, nearly new—which plainly owed its presence to its colors—two or three tin dishes (not new), a harmonica, a box containing a straw hat trimmed with blue bows, several fans, a box of dominoes, a pocket-knife with a broken blade, several pairs of new hose,marked plainly "seconds," some sheets and pillow-cases (half-worn, but hailed with joy by Mrs. Jones), a kimono, an of men's half-worn shoes—pounced upon at once by Paul and his father, and not abandoned until it was found that only two were mates, and only one of these good for much wear.
 
It was at this point that there came a shout from Ned, whose head was far down in the barrel.
 
"Here's a package—a big one—and it's marked 'dress for Mrs. Jones.' Mother, you did get it, after all!" he cried, tumbling the package into his mother's lap.
 
Tremblingly half a dozen pairs of hands attempted to the and to unwrap the coverings; then, across Mrs. Jones's lap there lay a tawdry dress of pale-blue silk, and soiled. Pinned to it was a note in a feminine hand: "This will wash and make over nicely, I think, if you can't wear it just as it is."
 
"We have so many chances to wear light-blue silk, too," was all that Mrs. Jones said.
 
In the bottom of the barrel were a few new towels, very coarse, and some and small, fringed napkins, also very coarse.
 
"Well, I'm sure, these are handy," the minister, who had not found his coat.
 
"Oh, yes," answered his wife, wearily; "only—well, it so happens that every box for the last five years has held tea-napkins—and I don't give many teas, you know, dear."
 
Genevieve choked back a sob.
 
"I—I never saw such a—a thing in all my life, as that barrel was," she stormed hotly. "I don't see what folks were thinking of—to send such things!"
 
"They weren't thinking, my dear, and that's just what the trouble was," answered Mrs. Jones, gently. "They didn't think, nor understand. Besides, there are very many nice things here that we can use beautifully. There always are, in every box, only—of course, some things aren't so useful."
 
"I should say not!" snapped Genevieve.
 
"Well, I didn't suppose anything could make me glad because Aunt Kate makes over the girls' things for me," spoke up Elsie Martin; "but something has now. She can't send them in any missionary boxes, anyhow!"
 
Mrs. Jones laughed, though she looked still more disturbed.
 
"But, girls, dear girls, please don't say such things," she expostulated. "We are very, very grateful—indeed we are; and it is right kind of them to remember us far-away with boxes and barrels!"
 
"'Missionary'!" Genevieve. "'Missionary'! I should think somebody had better be missionary to them, and teach them what to send. Dolls and skates, indeed!"
 
"But, my dear," smiled Mrs. Jones, "those might have been just the things—in some places; and besides, some of the boxes are—are better than this. Indeed they are!"
 
It was at this point that Cordelia came forward hurriedly, and touched Mrs. Jones's arm. Her face was a little white and strained looking.
 
"Mrs. Jones," she , "I think I ought to tell you. I'm a minister's niece, and I've seen lots of missionary boxes packed. I know just how they do it, too. I know just how thoughtless they—I mean we—are; and I just wanted to say that I'm very, very sure the next time we pack a box for any missionary, we'll—we'll see that our old shoes are mates, and that we don't send dolls to boys!"
 
There was a shout of gleeful from the boys, but there were only troubled sighs and frowns on the part of Mr. and Mrs. Jones.
 
"Dear me! I—I wish the barrel hadn't come when you were here," regretted th............