“How did you get here so early, Ralph?” and Aunt Matilda’s face was shadowed with a coming rebuke.

“By early rising,” said Ralph.  But, seeing the gathering frown on his aunt’s brow, he hastened to tell the story of Shocky as well as he could.  Mrs. White did not give way to any impulse toward sympathy until she learned that Shocky was safely housed with Miss Nancy Sawyer.

“Yes, Sister Sawyer has no family cares,” she said by way of smoothing her slightly ruffled complacency, “she has no family cares, and she can do those things.  Sometimes I think she lets people impose on her and keep her away from the means of grace, and I spoke to our new preacher about it the last time he was here, and asked him to speak to Sister Sawyer about staying away from the ordinances to wait on everybody, but he is a queer man, and he only said that he supposed Sister Sawyer neglected the inferior ordinances that she might attend to higher ones.  But I don’t see any sense in a minister of the gospel calling prayer-meeting a lower ordinance than feeding catnip-tea to Mrs. Brown’s last baby.  But hasn’t this little boy—­Shocking, or what do you call him?—­got any mother?”

“Yes,” said Ralph, “and that was just what I was going to say.”  And he proceeded to tell how anxious Shocky was to see his half-blind mother, and actually ventured to wind up his remarks by suggesting that Shocky’s mother be invited to stay over Sunday in Aunt Matilda’s house.

“Bless my stars!” said that astounded saint, “fetch a pauper here?  What crazy notions you have got!  Fetch her here out of the poor-house?  Why, she wouldn’t be fit to sleep in my—­” here Aunt Matilda choked.  The bare thought of having a pauper in her billowy beds, whose snowy whiteness was frightful to any ordinary mortal, the bare thought of the contagion of the poor-house taking possession of one of her beds, smothered her.  “And then you know sore eyes are very catching.”

Ralph boiled a little.  “Aunt Matilda, do you think Dorcas was afraid of sore eyes?”

It was a center shot, and the lawyer-uncle, lawyerlike, enjoyed a good hit.  And he enjoyed a good hit at his wife best of all, for he never ventured on one himself.  But Aunt Matilda felt that a direct reply was impossible.  She was not a lawyer but a woman, and so dodged the question by making a counter-charge.

“It seems to me, Ralph, that you have picked up some very low associates.  And you go around at night, I am told.  You get over here by daylight, and I hear that you have made common cause with a lame soldier who acts as a spy for thieves, and that your running about of night is likely to get you into trouble.”

Ralph was hit this time.  “I suppose,” he said, “that you’ve been listening to some of Henry Small’s lies.”

“Why, Ralph, how you talk!  The worst sign of all is that you abuse such a young man as Dr. Small, the most exemplary Christian young man in the county.  And he is a great friend of yours, for when he was here last week he did not say a word against you, but looked so sorry when your being in trouble was mentioned.  Didn’t he, Mr. White?”