Please, dear Mrs.
Markham, be very, very kind to her, and you will greatly oblige, your
most obedient servant,

"BARBARA BIGELOW.

"P.S. I dare say your ways out West are not exactly like our ways at the
East, and Ethie may not fall in with them at once, perhaps never with
some of them, but I am sure she will do what is right, as she is a
sensible girl. Again, yours with regret, B.B."

The writing of this letter was not perhaps the wisest thing Aunt Barbara
could have done, but she was incited to it by what her sister Sophia
told her of the rumors concerning Mrs. Markham, and her own fears lest
Ethelyn should not be as comfortable with the new mother-in-law as was
wholly desirable. To Richard himself she had said that she presumed that
his mother's ways were not like Ethie's--old people were different from
young ones--the world had improved since their day, and instead of
trying to bring young folks altogether to their modes of thinking, it
was well for both to yield something. That was the third time Richard
had heard his mother's ways alluded to; first by Mrs. Jones, who called
them queer; second, by Mrs. Dr. Van Buren, who, for Ethie's sake had
also dropped a word of caution, hinting that his mother's ways might
possibly be a little peculiar; and lastly by good Aunt Barbara, who
signalized them as different from Ethelyn's.

What did it mean, and why had he never discovered anything amiss in his
mother? He trusted that Mrs. Jones, and Mrs. Van Buren, and Aunt Barbara
were mistaken. On the whole, he knew they were; and even if they were
not his mother could not do wrong to Ethie, while Ethie would, of
course, be willing to conform to any request made by a person so much
older than herself as his mother was. So Richard dismissed that subject
from his mind, and Ethelyn--having never heard it agitated, except that
time when, with Mrs. Jones on his mind, Richard had thought proper to
suggest the propriety of her humoring his mother--felt no fears of Mrs.
Markham, senior, whom she still associated in her mind with heavy black
silk, gold-bowed spectacles, handsome lace and fleecy crochet-work.

The October morning was clear and crisp and frosty, and the sun had not
yet shown itself above the eastern hills, when Captain Markham's
carryall drove to Aunt Barbara's gate, followed by the long
democratic-wagon which was to take the baggage. Ethelyn's spoiled
traveling dress had been replaced by a handsome poplin, which was ma