Immediately after his father’s death he had written to his wife, telling her all, and trying as far as he was able to smooth matters over, so that his mother might at least have a decent reception.  In a violent passion, his wife had answered, that “she never would submit to it—­never.  When I married you,” said she, “I didn’t suppose I was marrying the ‘old woman,’ young one, and all; and as for my having them to maintain, I will not, so Mr. John Nichols, you understand it.”

When Mrs. Livingstone was particularly angry, she called her husband Mr. John Nichols, and when Mr. John Nichols was particularly angry, he did as he pleased, so in this case he replied that “he should bring home as many ‘old women’ and ‘young ones’ as he liked, and she might help herself if she could!”

This state of things was hardly favorable to the future happiness of Grandma Nichols, who, wholly unsuspecting and deeming herself as good as anybody, never dreamed that her presence would be unwelcome to her daughter-in-law, whom she thought to assist in various ways, “taking perhaps the whole heft of the housework upon herself—­though,” she added, “I mean to begin just as I can hold out.  I’ve hearn of such things as son’s wives shirkin’ the whole on to their old mothers, and the minit ’Tilda shows any signs of that, I shall back out, I tell you.”

John, who overheard this remark, bit his lip with vexation, and then burst into a laugh as he fancied the elegant Mrs. Livingstone’s dismay at hearing herself called ’Tilda.  Had John chosen, he could have given his mother a few useful hints with regard to her treatment of his wife, but such an idea never entered his brain.  He was a man of few words, and generally allowed himself to be controlled by circumstances, thinking that the easiest way of getting through the world.  He was very proud, and keenly felt how mortifying it would be to present his mother to his fashionable acquaintances; but that was in the future—­many miles away—­he wouldn’t trouble himself about it now; so he passed his time mostly in rambling through the woods and over the hills, while his mother, good soul, busied herself with the preparations for her journey, inviting each and every one of her neighbors to “be sure and visit her if they ever came that way,” and urging some of them to come on purpose and “spend the winter.”

Among those who promised compliance with this last request, was Miss Nancy Scovandyke, whom we have once before mentioned, and who, as the reader will have inferred, was the first love of John Livingstone.  On the night of his arrival, she had been sent in quest of the physician, and when on her return she learned from ’Lena that he had come, she kept out of sight, thinking she would wait awhile before she met him.  “Not that she cared the snap of her finger for him,” the said, “only it was natural that she should hate to see him.”