venient to town, too, but I can't really blame
her,--though of course I'm glad poor Sylvia's to be happy in her own way,
and all that, for it's plain to be seen with one eye she's too slow to go
her mother's pace--you couldn't expect Vivvy Latham, over all the hurdles
but one, and almost at the end of the race, to relish her daughter's
mother-in-law being in the egg trade in the very neighbourhood.

"At first everybody thought that the Bradfords, mother and son, would
probably give up work and float on Sylvester J. Latham's money, for they
say (to spite Vivvy, most likely) he took to Horace Bradford at the
first, for what did the young fellow do but go straight to town and look
Sylvester up, and make a clean breast of it before the gossips could even
twist their tongues around the affair.

"Sylvester thought he could handle Bradford to suit himself, move him to
New York, jam him into business, cut up the farm in house lots,
reorganize his affairs, and declare a dividend out of him for his own
benefit, as he does with lame railroads,--but not a bit of it!

"'With what you may choose to do for Sylvia personally, it would be
selfish for me to interfere; but our way of living can only be planned
upon the basis of what I earn,' said Horace, looking Mr. Latham in the
face, and he's a big man too,--Sylvia gets her height from him.

"It rather knocked Sylvester out, because it was a kind of spunk he'd
never met, and he told Jenks-Smith about it. Thought they didn't speak?
Oh yes, they're thick again, just now, over some kind of a deal.

"Did you know Jenks-Smith had bought Vivvy's house here? Yes, the deed
was passed the day she sailed. We've got to keep the Bluffs select, you
know, and if the house was put on the market, goodness knows who might
buy it, just to get in with us.

"Mr. Latham had an idea of taking it and giving it to Sylvia, but they
wouldn't have that either,--are just fixing up the old house a bit, and
going to summer at the farm, while the old lady will keep on selling eggs
the same as ever. Not but what she's a thoroughbred all right, though in
a cheap stable. I was down at Vivvy's the day she came to call on Sylvia!
Just as quiet and cool, except that her hands in the openwork silk mits
shook, as if her son was a duke. I thought there would be a lively row,
and I wished myself out of it, but Vivvy hadn't a chance to strike out
until the old lady got up to go, then she only said: 'You must not
understand