Aunty Patton was a widow, with very slender means; and boarded with a
married daughter, who had a large family of children, but very little to
support them on. Poor Aunty! she fared rather poorly at home, and did
_so_ seem to enjoy everything. She was particularly fond of fruit-cake;
and whenever she came, mamma took particular pains that this should be
one of the appliances of the tea-table. She possessed many wealthy
acquaintances and relations, and enjoyed visiting around among them very
much; praising everything that was set before her, and never
contradicting any one. It teemed impossible to put anything on the table
which she did not like; everything was "good," and "delightful," and
"just what she would have fancied." At length some cousin determined to
test her patience; and on one occasion, when the old lady happened to
dine there, the dishes, when uncovered, were found to contain nothing
but supaun and potatoes.

"I am really sorry, Aunty Patton," began the hostess, "to be able to
offer you nothing better for dinner--but sometimes you know"--

"O," said Aunty, with rather a rueful look, "it'll _do_."

Poor Aunty had that very day prepared herself for something uncommonly
nice in the way of dinner, and felt a little disappointed; but cousin
Emma soon restored her equanimity by a liberal display of fruit-cake and
other nice things, which presented themselves on opening the side-board
door.

Aunty Patton had mild, winning kind of manners, and became a general
favorite in the nursery; probably on account of her always noticing us,
and pronouncing us "lovely little creatures." She appeared to me the
most heavenly-minded old lady I had ever seen; and I listened, with a