“You will find my Ethie in some respects a spoiled child—­[she wrote] but it is more my fault than hers.  I have loved her so much, and petted her so much, that I have doubt if she knows what a harsh word or cross look means.  She has been carefully and delicately brought up, but has repaid me well for all my pains by her tender love.  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 made in the extreme of fashion, and fitted her admirably, as did every portion of her dress, from her jaunty hat and dotted lace veil to the Alexandre kids and fancy little gaiters