the surface of society
without having any fixed position in it, who have no legitimate
occupation, depend on chance for everything, and lead an artificial life
generally. Such men, it had seemed to her, were poor companions to sail
down the stormy sea of life with. In Tite she saw something real, good,
substantial; one of those young men who prosper and build up their own
fortunes and future, because they apply themselves steadily and
energetically to the legitimate pursuits of life.

The door opened suddenly, and Mattie's reverie was interrupted by her
mother, whose portly figure quite filled the space, for, in truth, the
lady had enlarged her hip circumference with an unpardonable amount of
padding. Mrs. Chapman expected distinguished company that day, and had
arrayed herself in a tantalizing amount of finery. For the first time,
too, she had put her hair up in puffs, which was the fashion of the day
in Bowling Green. Indeed the lady flattered herself that there was
nothing in Bowling Green that could excel her in the magnificence of her
upholstery.

"Expecting company to-day, very distinguished company, too," said Mrs.
Chapman, advancing and bowing her head oppressively, "and how very
annoying not to be dressed as one wants to be." After viewing herself in
the glass for several minutes, turning first one side and then the
other, viewing and reviewing her skirts, and training her puffs into
more exact platoon, she turned to Mattie, and resumed, "Now tell me, my
daughter, how do my skirts hang? Does my dress become me? Do puffs
become me? You see my face is a little broad--puffs will, I am afraid,
make it look disadvantageously broad. Tell me now, my daughter, am I
presentable?" Mrs. Chapman waited with an air of self-admiration for a
reply. "You have such good taste in such matters, my daughter;" she
concluded.

"Why, mother," replied Mattie, smiling and viewing her mother from head
to foot, "how very worldly you are getting, and so vain. Never saw you
look better--and so young."

"I appreciate the compliment, my daughter," returned Mrs. Chapman,
dropping a bow and a courtesy. "A woman of my complexion may be excused
for refusing to get old."

"I was only joking," resumed Mattie, laughing heartily. "My dear mother
takes everything so serious--"

"Come, come," interrupted Mrs. Chapman, her face coloring, "does my
dress become me? Am I presentable?"

"You are elegance itself, my dear mother, and would be prese