e, while Mrs. Lennox looked after him, wondering
at the feeling which she called pride, and which she could not
understand. "If Katy can go with the Woodhulls and their set, I
certainly shall not prevent it," she thought, as she continued her
arrangement of the parlor, wishing so much that it was more like what
she remembered Mrs. Woodhull's to have been, fifteen years ago.

Of course that lady had kept up with the times, and if her old house was
finer than anything Mrs. Lennox had ever seen, what must her new one be,
with all the modern improvements? and, leaning her head upon the mantel,
Mrs. Lennox thought how proud she would be could she live to see her
daughter in similar circumstances to the envied Mrs. Woodhull, at that
moment in the crowded car between Boston and Silverton, tired, hot, and
dusty, worn out, and as nearly cross as a fashionable lady can be.

A call from Uncle Ephraim aroused her, and going out into the square
entry she tied his gingham cravat, and then handing him the big
umbrella, an appendage he took with him in sunshine and in storm, she
watched him as he stepped into his one-horse wagon and drove briskly
away in the direction of the depot, where he was to meet his niece.

"I wish Cousin Morris had offered his carriage," she thought, as the
corn-colored and white wagon disappeared from view. "The train stops
five minutes at West Silverton, and some of those grand people will be
likely to see the turnout," and with a sigh as she doubted whether it
were not a disgrace as well as an inconvenience to be poor, she repaired
to the kitchen, where sundry savory smells betokened a plentiful dinner.

Bending over the sink, with her cap strings tucked back, her sleeves
rolled up, and her short, purple calico shielded from harm by her broad,
motherly check apron, Aunt Betsy stood cleaning the silvery onions, and
occasionally wiping her dim old eyes as the odor proved too strong for
her. At another table stood Aunt Hannah, deep in the mysteries of the
light, white crust which was to cover the tender chicken boiling in the
pot, while in the oven bubbled and baked the custard pie, remembered
as Katy's favorite, and prepared for her coming by Helen
herself--plain-spoken, blue-eyed Helen--now out in the strawberry beds,
picking the few luscious berries which almost by a miracle had been
coaxed to wait for Katy, who loved them so dearly. Like her mother,
Helen had wondered how the change would impress her brig