Judith had not betrayed her chagrin by the least change of countenance.  To the most searching glance every faculty was intent on the shirt-waist with the ringed buttons.  Yet both women felt—­by a species of telepathy wholly feminine—­that Judith was deeply wounded.  Loyal Sarah Yellett decided that Hamilton’s guests would get but a scant supper from her if her friend Judith was to be unfavored with an invitation, while Judith, in her own warm heart, resented as deeply as Peter’s slight of herself, his tale of Miss Colebrooke’s impatience to meet Mrs. Yellett.  The matriarch’s dominant personality evoked many a smile even from those most deeply conscious of her worth; but it wasn’t like Peter to make a spectacle of his ruggedly honest neighbor.  Nevertheless she remarked, coolly: 

“I sha’n’t be able to bring your shirt-waist things up Tuesday, I’m afraid, Mrs. Yellett, but I’ll try to bring them towards the end of the week.”  Then, with a swift change of subject, “How are the boys getting on with their education, Miss Carmichael?”

The boys looked at Mary out of the corners of their eyes.  Their prowess in the field of letters had not been publicly discussed before.  Mary Carmichael, emboldened by Judith’s presence, looked at her tormentors with a judicious glance.

“The girls are doing fairly well,” she replied, suppressing the mischief in her eyes, “but the boys, poor fellows, I think something must be the matter with them.  Did they ever fall on their heads when they were babies, Mrs. Yellett?”

“Not more than common.  All babies fall on their heads; it’s as common as colic.”

“Poor boys!” said Mary, with a manner that suggested they were miles away, rather than within a few feet of her.  “Poor boys!  I’ve never seen anything like it.  They try so hard, too, yet they can make nothing of work that would be play for a child of three.  They must have fallen on their heads harder than you supposed, Mrs. Yellett.”

“Perhaps their skulls were a heap frailer than I allowed for at the time,” said Mrs. Yellett, with similar remoteness, yet with a twinkle that showed Mary she understood the situation.

“An infant’s skull doesn’t stand much knocking about, I suppose, Mrs. Yellett?”

“Not a great deal, if there ain’t plenty of vinegar and brown paper handy, and I seldom had such fancy fixings in camp.  It’s too bad my boys should be dumb ’n account of a little thing like vinegar and brown paper.”

“Maw, they be dumb as Injuns,” declared Cacta, preening herself, while the Messrs. Yellett reapplied themselves to their dinner with ostentatious interest.

“Well, well!” said Mrs. Yellett; “it be a hard blow to me to know that my sons are lackings; there’s mothers I know as would give vent to their disapp’inted ambition in ways I’d consider crool to the absent-minded.  Now hearken, the whole outfit of you!  Any offspring of mine now present and forever after holding his peace, who proves feebleminded by the end of the coming week, takes over all the work, labor, and chores of such offspring as demonstrates himself in full possession of his faculties, the matter to be reported on by the gov’ment.”