rsion into the forest where her husband grew--the hat that had
covered his head!

Her mother's thoughtless mention of that object made it formidable to
her fears as some iron mask locked round her husband's countenance,
making day hideous and the world a dungeon to all who must walk with
him.

She discerned that his combative spirit would start to the defence of
his hat if it should become the subject of family rancor, because no man
forgives an insult to his personal appearance; and this article of wear
had ringed his brain with gangrene, and war made upon it would be met by
war, while Vesta had expected to induce forgetfulness of the rusty old
tile, to charm away the remembrance of it, and to have it laid forever
aside.

"I am not the daughter of Uncle McLane," Vesta protested. "I am,
besides, a woman, free of my minority. Mr. Milburn is hardly the man to
submit to any trespass. I warn you, mamma, to put my uncle at no
disadvantage; for my husband has already beaten papa, and he will smile
at your brother when he knows that I do not support any of his
pretensions."

"The first thing," answered Mrs. Custis, stubbornly, "is to see that he
pays this check. Oh, my dear money!"--she pressed it to her heart--"how
delightful it is to see you again. Science, love, glory, ideas: how
vulgar they are without money. With this check paid, I think I shall
never read a book again; and as for the bog ores, why, I shall scream if
there is an iron article in the house. Vesta, this house, I believe, is
yours now? I had forgotten. Well, no wonder you defend the man who took
your father's roof from over his head and gave it to you!"

"That is unkind, mamma. I value it only as a sure home for you and papa.
If I gave it to him it might be in risk again."

"But suppose you continue to defend this monster of a Milburn, he and
you may require the whole house. I am too well-bred to be converted to
any of his impious ideas. I am a Baltimorean, and stand by my colors."

"Let us speak of that no more," Vesta said, almost in despair, "but talk
of dear papa. I know he loves you."

"It is too late," Mrs. Custis remarked, solemnly, with another fondling
of her check; "he has neglected me too long. I expect his attention and
respect, and that he shall behave himself; but no lovey and no honey for
me now. Life has passed the noon and the early afternoon for him and me,
and I live to be respectable, to appreciate my security, to keep
upstarts a