mine what progress, if any, I had made in
the good graces of Mrs. Pinkerton. While I was cogitating, Bessie came
out and approached me with an inquiring look. I am afraid my returning
glance did not greatly reassure her. As she came up and took my arm, she
said,--

"Well?"

"Well! No, it's not very well. I am beaten, my dear. Your mother is
simply a stony-hearted parent!"

"What did she say?"

"Oh, she wants you to grow up an old maid--as if such a thing were
possible!--and says that lovers have no idea of what a mean, cruel thing
it is to rob people of only daughters; and that she shall require time
to think of it. What do you think of that?"

Bessie knitted her pretty brows, and dug her toes into the walk.

"Perhaps I had better go to her?" she said.

"Of course you must. But I know it won't be of any use just yet. We
must, as she says, give her time. She will come around all right at the
end of nine or ten years. The fact is, Bessie, she's a little bit
jealous of me and regards me as an intruder."

"Poor, dear mamma!" said Bessie, her eyes becoming moist.

"Poor, dear pussy-cat! You should have seen her shoot me with her eyes
and ridicule my honest sentiment. She used me roughly, my dear, and I
can't help wondering at my amazing politeness to her."

Bessie was not discouraged. She had several interviews with her mother,
in which protestations, tears, smiles, and coaxings played a part, but
there was no apparent change of heart on the part of the old lady, after
all. I don't know how long this disagreeable state of affairs would have
continued under ordinary circumstances, had not an unexpected,
thrilling, and, as it happened, fortunate occurrence hastened a crisis
and brought an end to the siege. It was a very singular thing, and it
seemed to have been pre-arranged to bring me glory, and, what was
better, the desired goodwill of the "stony-hearted parent."

If there was any one thing that the worthy Mrs. Pinkerton detested more
than men and tobacco, that thing was a burglar. Add fear to detestation,
and you will see that when I defended the old lady from the attentions
of a burglar, I had taken a long step into her good graces.

It was a week after the interview narrated above, and in the early
summer, Mrs. Pinkerton had gone down to a quiet sea-side resort for a
short stay, thinking to get away from me; but I was not to be put off
so. I followed her, taking a room at the same hotel.

About one o'cloc