in declared; "if it hadn't been for
her face, I wouldn't have known whether she was coming bow or stern on."

"I think," said Mrs. Cyrus, "that that woman has some motive in bringing
her mother back here; and _right across the street_, too!"

"What motive?" said Cyrus, mildly curious.

But Augusta waited for conjugal privacy to explain herself: "Cyrus, I
worry so, because I'm sure that woman thinks she can catch your father
again. Oh, just listen to that harmonicon down-stairs! It sets my teeth
on edge!"

Then Cyrus, the silent, servile first mate, broke out: "Gussie, you're a
fool!"

And Augusta cried all night, and showed herself at the breakfast-table
lantern-jawed and sunken-eyed; and her father-in-law judged it wise to
sprinkle his cigar ashes behind the stable.

* * * * *

The day that Mrs. North arrived in Old Chester, Mrs. Cyrus commanded the
situation; she saw the daughter get out of the stage, and hurry into the
house for a chair so that the mother might descend more easily. She also
saw a little, white-haired old lady take that opportunity to leap
nimbly, and quite unaided, from the swinging step.

"Now, mother!" expostulated Mary North, chair in hand, and breathless,
"you might have broken your limb! Here, take my arm."

Meekly, after her moment of freedom, the little lady put her hand on
that gaunt arm, and tripped up the path and into the house, where, alas!
Augusta Price lost sight of them. Yet even she, with all her disapproval
of strong-minded ladies, must have admired the tenderness of the
man-o'-war's-man. Miss North put her mother into a big chair, and
hurried to bring a dish of curds.

"I'm not hungry," protested Mrs. North.

"Never mind. It will do you good."

With a sigh the little old lady ate the curds, looking about her with
curious eyes. "Why, we're right across the street from the old Price
house!" she said.

"Did you know them, mother?" demanded Miss North.

"Dear me, yes," said Mrs. North, twinkling; "why, I'd forgotten all
about it, but the eldest boy-- Now, what was his name? Al--something.
Alfred--Albert; no, Alfred. He was a beau of mine."

"Mother! I don't think it's refined to use such a word."

"Well, he wanted me to elope with him," Mrs. North said, gayly; "if that
isn't being a beau, I don't know what is. I haven't thought of it for
years."

"If you've finished your curds you must lie down," said Miss North.

"Oh, I'll just look