at the old lady would not permit
Rose to come without her personal escort. Accordingly, one evening after
tea, when the Major was in a particularly gracious humor, and had told
her several of his oldest and best stories, Margaret fell upon him
unawares, and before he had recovered from the shock of the encounter,
had captured his consent. Then, in order to secure the leverage of a
dispatched invitation, she had immediately written Rose, asking her
and her aunt to come and spend a month or two with her, and had without
delay handed it to George Washington to deliver to Lazarus to give
Luke to carry to the post-office. The next evening, therefore, when the
Major, after twenty-four hours of serious apprehension, reopened the
matter with a fixed determination to coax or buy her out of the notion,
because, as he used to say, "women can't be _reasoned_ out of a thing,
sir, not having been reasoned in," Margaret was able to meet him with
the announcement that it was "too late," as the letter had already been
mailed.

Seated in one of the high-backed arm-chairs, with one white hand shading
her laughing eyes from the light, and with her evening dress daintily
spread out about her, Margaret was amused at the look of desperation
on the old gentleman's ruddy face. He squared his round body before
the fire, braced himself with his plump legs well apart, as if he were
preparing to sustain the shock of a blow, and taking a deep inspiration,
gave a loud and prolonged "Whew!"

This was too much for her.

Margaret rose, and, going up to him, took his arm and looked into his
face cajolingly.

"Uncle, I was bound to have Rose, and Miss Jemima would not have let her
come alone."

The tone was the low, almost plaintive key, the effectiveness of which
Margaret knew so well.

"'Not let her!'" The Major faced her quickly. "Margaret, she is one of
those _strong-minded_ women!"

Margaret nodded brightly.

"I bet my horse she wears iron-gray curls, caught on the side of her
head with tucking combs!"

"She does," declared Margaret, her eyes dancing.

"And has a long nose--red at the end."

"Uncle, you have seen her. I _know_ you have seen her," asserted
Margaret, laughing up at him. "You have her very picture."

The Major groaned, and vowed that he would never survive it, and that
Margaret would go down to history as the slayer of her uncle.

"I have selected my place in the graveyard," he said, with a mournful
shake of the head.