ert
their minds, and when they are irritable they feel more at liberty to
vent their tempers, because they know folks cannot get away from them
so easily. I confess I was not sorry to take leave of Cousin John,
though I did feel sorry for him, as he sat there all alone with his
gouty foot up on the chair in front of the Franklin stove in the
sitting-room. He is not satisfied with Philip, and seems to hold me
responsible. He would like to have Phil come home to live and be
cashier of the bank.

Cousin John thinks the world revolves round the Oldbury bank; and I
suppose it is natural he should, seeing how long he has been
president, and what a fine reputation it has the country round.

Of course Philip does not see it in the same light, and it seems he
made some ill-advised speech,--said he would rather turn sexton and
bury other people than be buried alive himself in a hole like that,
which was not a nice thing for him to say to his father,--but that was
no reason why Cousin John should swear at him, and tell him he was
sick of his capitalist airs, and he for one should not be surprised if
he came some day to beg for aid from the bank he thought too
insignificant to be worthy of his attention.

Philip was furious. "Bankrupt I may be some day," he answered, "but I
promise you I will go to the poorhouse before ever I ask help of you
and your infernal bank."

This was the state of mind in which they parted, when Philip had come
home for his first visit in years. I could have shaken them both for
their obstinacy and lack of common sense; but it is always so when men
live alone. They need a woman about the house to accustom them to
being contradicted. Now if Philip married a girl like Winifred, she
would soon straighten things out. I can see now how Cousin John would
dote on her and pretend not to care very much, and scold sometimes
when he had the gout; but all the while be her slave and spend his
life trying to give her pleasure. That is what ought to happen, so of
course it won't. Instead, Philip will go and marry some uncomfortable
sort of person with a mission. Oh, dear! what if it should be--?
There, I will not allow my mind to turn in _that_ direction. I have a
sort of superstition that thinking too much about any unfortunate
thing helps to bring it about. I think it must be this city life which
makes me feel so blue and discouraged. The fact is, I do not like New
York. In the first place, because it is not Boston