After a while, Mrs. Laurie ceased to write in her old strain.  She sometimes spoke of her two eldest sons as fine boys, and of her two little girls as dear, sweet creatures; but generally omitted saying any thing more about her family than that all were in good health.

Ten years after Martha’s marriage and removal to the West, during which time the sisters had not met, business required Mr. Fleetwood to go to Cincinnati, and he proposed that his wife should accompany him, and pay a visit to Mrs. Laurie, who lived in Springfield, Ohio.  Mrs. Fleetwood readily consented, and they started in the pleasant month of October.

On arriving at Springfield, they were met by Mr. Laurie at the stage-office and taken to his house, where the sisters met, overjoyed at seeing each other once more.

“Is that one of your children?” asked Mrs. Fleetwood, after she had laid aside her bonnet and riding-dress, and seated herself in her sister’s chamber.  A red-faced boy, with pouting lips, and a brow naturally or artificially so heavy as almost to conceal his organs of vision, stood holding on to one side of the door, and swinging himself in and out, all the while eyeing fixedly his aunt, of whose intended visit he had been advised.

“Yes, that is my oldest.  Henry, come here and speak to your aunty.”

But Henry did not change either attitude, motion, nor expression, any more than if he had been a swinging automaton.

“Did you hear me?” Mrs. Laurie spoke with a slight change in her voice and manner.

The boy remained as impassive as before.

“Come, dear, and shake hands with me,” said Mrs. Fleetwood.

Henry now put one of his thumbs into his mouth, but neither looked nor acted less savagely than at first.

Mrs. Laurie was fretted at this unfavourable exhibition of himself by her son.  She felt as if she would like to get hold of him and box his ears until they burned for a week.

“Henry!  Come here!” She spoke in a tone of command.  The door was quite as much impressed as her son.

“Either come and speak to your aunty, or go down-stairs immediately.”

The boy moved not.

This was too much for Mrs. Laurie, and she started towards him.  Henry let go of the door, and went down-stairs about as quietly as a horse would have gone.

“He’s such a strange, shy boy,” said Mrs. Laurie, apologetically.  “But he has a good heart, and you can do almost any thing with him.  How is Earnest? the dear little fellow.”

“Earnest is almost a man.  He is as large as I am,” replied Mrs. Fleetwood.

“Indeed!  I can’t think of him as any thing but a bright little boy, not so large as my Henry.”

As she said this, her Henry, who had gone clattering down-stairs a few moments before, presented himself at the door again, and commenced swinging himself, and taking observations of the state of affairs within the chamber.  The mother and aunt both concluded within their own minds that it was as well not to take any notice of him, and therefore went on with their conversation.  Presently a happy, singing voice was heard upon the stairs.