“Can you read it clearly, without your glasses?” she asked politely.  “I wouldn’t for the world have you make a mistake as to whom my letter is addressed.  It goes to my brother Hiram Bates, youngest son of Adam Bates, Bates Corners, Hartley, Indiana.”

“I was going to give it to my son, so that he could take it to the office,” said Mrs. Holt.

“And I am going to take it myself, as I know your son is down town and I want it to go over on the evening hack, so it will be sure to go out early in the morning.”

Surprise overcame Mrs. Holt’s discomfiture.

“Land sakes!” she cried.  “Bates is such a common name it didn’t mean a thing to me.  Be you a daughter of Adam Bates, the Land King, of Bates Corners?”

“I be,” said Kate tersely.

“Well, I never!  All them hundreds of acres of land an’ money in the bank an’ mortgages on half his neighbours.  Whut the nation!  An’ no more of better clo’s an’ you got!  An’ teachin’ school!  I never heard of the like in all my days!”

“If you have Bates history down so fine, you should know that every girl of the entire Bates family has taught from the time she finished school until she married.  Also we never buy more clothing than we need, or of the kind not suitable for our work.  This may explain why we own some land and have a few cents in the Bank.  My letter, please.”

Kate turned and went down the street, a dull red tingeing her face.  “I could hate that woman cordially without half trying,” she said.

The house was filled with the odour of cooking food when she returned and soon she was called to supper.  As she went to the chair indicated for her, a step was heard in the hall.  Kate remained standing and when a young man entered the room Mrs. Holt at once introduced her son, George.  He did not take the trouble to step around the table and shake hands, but muttered a gruff “howdy do?” and seating himself, at once picked up the nearest dish and began filling his plate.

His mother would have had matters otherwise.  “Why, George,” she chided.  “What’s your hurry?  Why don’t you brush up and wait on Miss Bates first?”

“Oh, if she is going to be one of the family,” he said, “she will have to learn to get on without much polly-foxing.  Grub is to eat.  We can all reach at a table of this size.”

Kate looked at George Holt with a searching glance.  Surely he was almost thirty, of average height, appeared strong, and as if he might have a forceful brain; but he was loosely jointed and there was a trace of domineering selfishness on his face that was repulsive to her.  “I could hate that man cordially, without half trying,” she thought to herself, smiling faintly at the thought.

The sharp eyes of Mrs. Holt detected the smile.  She probably would have noticed it, if Kate had merely thought of smiling.

“Why do you smile, my dear?” she asked in melting tone.