At this crisis Mrs. Wilkins providentially appeared, breathless, but brisk and beaming, and in no wise dismayed by the plight of her luckless son, for a ten years’ acquaintance with Wash’s dauntless nature had inured his mother to “didoes” that would have appalled most women.

“Go right up chamber, and change every rag on you, and don’t come down agin till I rap on the ceilin’; you dreadful boy, disgracin’ your family by sech actions.  I’m sorry I was kep’ so long, but Mis Plumly got tellin’ her werryments, and ’peared to take so much comfort in it I couldn’t bear to stop her.  Then I jest run round to your place and told that woman that you was safe and well, along’r friends, and would call in to-morrer to get your things.  She ’d ben so scart by your not comin’ home that she was as mild as milk, so you won’t have no trouble with her, I expect.”

“Thank you very much!  How kind you are, and how tired you must be!  Sit down and let me take your things,” cried Christie, more relieved than she could express.

“Lor’, no, I’m fond of walkin’, but bein’ ruther hefty it takes my breath away some to hurry.  I’m afraid these children have tuckered you out though.  They are proper good gen’lly, but when they do take to trainen they’re a sight of care,” said Mrs. Wilkins, as she surveyed her imposing bonnet with calm satisfaction.

“I’ve enjoyed it very much, and it’s done me good, for I haven’t laughed so much for six months as I have this afternoon,” answered Christie, and it was quite true, for she had been too busy to think of herself or her woes.

“Wal, I thought likely it would chirk you up some, or I shouldn’t have went,” and Mrs. Wilkins put away a contented smile with her cherished bonnet, for Christie’s face had grown so much brighter since she saw it last, that the good woman felt sure her treatment was the right one.

At supper Lisha reappeared, and while his wife and children talked incessantly, he ate four slices of bread and butter, three pieces of pie, five dough-nuts, and drank a small ocean of tea out of his saucer.  Then, evidently feeling that he had done his duty like a man, he gave Christie another nod, and disappeared again without a word.

When she had done up her dishes Mrs. Wilkins brought out a few books and papers, and said to Christie, who sat apart by the window, with the old shadow creeping over her face: 

“Now don’t feel lonesome, my dear, but jest lop right down on the sotfy and have a sociable kind of a time.  Lisha’s gone down street for the evenin’.  I’ll keep the children as quiet as one woman can, and you may read or rest, or talk, jest as you’re a mind.”

“Thank you; I’ll sit here and rock little Vie to sleep for you.  I don’t care to read, but I’d like to have you talk to me, for it seems as if I’d known you a long time and it does me good,” said Christie, as she settled herself and baby on the old settee which had served as a cradle for six young Wilkinses, and now received the honorable name of sofa in its old age.