ayly, in her little, old, piping voice, "Alfred--Alfred Price!"

The Captain turned and looked at her. There was just one moment's pause;
perhaps he tried to bridge the years, and to believe that it was Letty
who spoke to him--Letty, whom he had last seen that wintry night, pale
and weeping, in the slender green sheath of a fur-trimmed pelisse. If
so, he gave it up; this plump, white-haired, bright-eyed old lady, in a
wide-spreading, rustling black silk dress, was not Letty. She was Mrs.
North.

The Captain came across the street, waving his newspaper, and saying,
"So you've cast anchor in the old port, ma'am?"

"My daughter is not at home; do come in," she said, smiling and nodding.
Captain Price hesitated; then he put his pipe in his pocket and
followed her into the parlor. "Sit down," she cried, gayly. "Well,
_Alfred_!"

"Well--_Mrs. North_!" he said; and then they both laughed, and she began
to ask questions: Who was dead? Who had so and so married? "There are
not many of us left," she said. "The two Ferris girls and Theophilus
Morrison and Johnny Gordon--he came to see me yesterday. And Matty
Dilworth; she was younger than I--oh, by ten years. She married the
oldest Barkley boy, didn't she? I hear he didn't turn out well. You
married his sister, didn't you? Was it the oldest girl or the second
sister?"

"It was the second--Jane. Yes, poor Jane. I lost her in 'forty-five."

"You have children?" she said, sympathetically.

"I've got a boy," he said; "but he's married."

"My girl has never married; she's a good daughter,"--Mrs. North broke
off with a nervous laugh; "here she is, now!"

Mary North, who had suddenly appeared in the doorway, gave a questioning
sniff, and the Captain's hand sought his guilty pocket; but Miss North
only said: "How do you do, sir? Now, mother, don't talk too much and get
tired." She stopped and tried to smile, but the painful color came into
her face. "And--if you please, Captain Price, will you speak in a low
tone? Large, noisy persons exhaust the oxygen in the air, and--"

"_Mary!_" cried poor Mrs. North; but the Captain, clutching his old felt
hat, began to hoist himself up from the sofa, scattering ashes about as
he did so. Mary North compressed her lips.

"I tell my daughter-in-law they'll keep the moths away," the old
gentleman said, sheepishly.

"I use camphor," said Miss North, "Flora must bring a dust-pan."

"Flora?" Alfred Price said. "Now, what's my association wit