e and live with me, Betty,"
she said good-humouredly. "What a pity you can't fancy one of those useless
boys of mine. Not that I'd have you marry Dan, child, the Major has spoiled
him to death, and now he's beginning to repent it; but Champe, Champe is a
good and clever lad and would make a mild and amiable husband, I am sure.
Don't marry a man with too much spirit, my dear; if a man has any extra
spirit, he usually expends it in breaking his wife's."

"Oh, I shan't marry yet awhile," replied Betty, looking out upon the
falling autumn leaves.

"So I said the day before I married Mr. Lightfoot," rejoined the old lady,
settling her pillows, "and now, if you have nothing better to do, you might
read me a chapter of 'Thaddeus of Warsaw'; you will find it to be a book of
very pretty sentiment."

IX

THE MONTJOY BLOOD

In the morning Betty was awakened by the tapping of the elm boughs on the
roof above her. An autumn wind was blowing straight from the west, and when
she looked out through the small greenish panes of glass, she saw eddies of
yellowed leaves beating gently against the old brick walls. Overhead light
gray clouds were flying across the sky, and beyond the waving tree-tops a
white mist hung above the dim blue chain of mountains.

When she went downstairs she found the Major, in his best black broadcloth,
pacing up and down before the house. It was Sunday, and he intended to
drive into town where the rector held his services.

"You won't go in with me, I reckon?" he ventured hopefully, when Betty
smiled out upon him from the library window. "Ah, my dear, you're as fresh
as the morning, and only an old man to look at you. Well, well, age has its
consolations; you'll spare me a kiss, I suppose?"

"Then you must come in to get it," answered Betty, her eyes narrowing.
"Breakfast is getting cold, and Cupid is calling down Aunt Rhody's wrath
upon your head."

"Oh, I'll come, I'll come," returned the Major, hurrying up the steps, and
adding as he entered the dining room, "My child, if you'd only take a fancy
to Champe, I'd be the happiest man on earth."

"Now I shan't allow any matchmaking on Sunday," said Betty, warningly, as
she prepared Mrs. Lightfoot's breakfast. "Sit down and carve the chicken
while I run upstairs with this."

She went out and came back in a moment, laughing merrily. "Do you know, she
threatens to become bedridden now that I am here to fix her trays," she
explained, sitting down