Quaint Courtships | Page 6

But she tried to elope with my father-in-law."
"What!"
"Oh, bygones should be bygones," Mrs. Cyrus said, soothingly;
"forgive and forget, you know. If there's anything I can do to assist you,
ma'am, I'll send my husband over;" and then she lounged away, leaving
poor Mary North silent with indignation. But that night at tea Gussie
said that she thought strong-minded ladies were very unladylike; "they
say she's strong-minded," she added, languidly.
"Lady!" said the Captain. "She's a man-o'-war's man in petticoats."
Gussie giggled.
"She's as thin as a lath," the Captain 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.
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 downstairs! 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 about--"
"No; you are tired. You must lie down."
"Who is that stout old gentleman going into the Price house?" Mrs.
North said, lingering at the window.
"Oh, that's your Alfred Price," her daughter answered; and added that
she hoped her mother would be pleased with the house. "We have
boarded so long, I think you'll enjoy a home of your own."
"Indeed I shall!" cried Mrs. North, her eyes snapping with delight.
"Mary, I'll wash the breakfast dishes, as my mother used to do!"
"Oh no," Mary North protested; "it would tire you. I mean to take every
care from your mind."
"But," Mrs. North pleaded, "you have so much to do; and--"
"Never mind about me," said the daughter, earnestly; "you are my first
consideration."
"I know it, my dear," said Mrs. North, meekly. And when Old Chester
came to make its call, one of the first things she said was that her Mary
was such a good daughter. Miss North, her anxious face red with
determination, bore out the assertion by constantly interrupting the
conversation to bring a footstool, or shut a window, or put a shawl over

her mother's knees. "My mother's limb troubles her," she explained to
visitors (in point of modesty, Mary North did not leave her mother a leg
to stand on); then she added, breathlessly, with her tremulous smile,
that she wished they would please not talk too much. "Conversation
tires her," she explained. At which the little, pretty old lady opened and
closed her hands, and protested that she was not tired at all. But the
callers departed. As the door closed behind them, Mrs. North was ready
to cry.
"Now, Mary, really!" she began.
"Mother, I don't care! I don't like to say things like that, though I'm