Of course I knew she must be Aunt Jane, because she was with John.

The conductor was awfully nice and polite, and didn't leave me till he'd seen me safe in the hands of Aunt Jane and John.

Then he went back to his train, and the next minute it had whizzed out of the station, and I was alone with the beginning of my next six months.
The first beginning was a nice smile, and a "Glad to see ye home, Miss," from John, as he touched his hat, and the next was a "How do you do, Mary ?" from Aunt Jane.

And I knew right off that first minute that I wasn't going to like Aunt Jane--just the way she said that "Mary," and the way she looked me over from head to foot.
Aunt Jane is tall and thin, and wears black--not the pretty, stylish black, but the "I-don't-care" rusty black--and a stiff white collar.
Her eyes are the kind that says, "I'm surprised at you!" all the time, and her mouth is the kind that never shows any teeth when it smiles, and doesn't smile much, anyway.

Her hair is some gray, and doesn't kink or curl anywhere; and I knew right off the first minute she looked at me that she didn't like mine, 'cause it did curl.
I was pretty sure she didn't like my clothes, either.