"I'll come right up then," said she, adding, more to herself than any
one else, "If I ain't mistaken, I've got a little paper of saffron
somewhere, which I mean to steep for 'Tilda. Her skin looks desput
jandissy!"

When Mr. Livingstone again entered his wife's room, he found her in a
collapsed state of anger and mortification.

"_John_ Nichols," said she, with a strong emphasis on the first word,
which sounded very much like _Jarn_, "do you mean to kill me by
bringing that vulgar, ignorant thing here, walking into my room
without knocking--calling me '_Tilda_, and prating about Nancy
somebody----"

John started. His wife knew nothing of his _affaire du coeur_ with
Miss Nancy, and for his own peace of mind 't was desirable that she
should not. Mentally resolving to give her a few hints, he
endeavored to conciliate his wife, by saying that he knew "his mother
was troublesome, but she must try not to notice her oddities."

"I wonder how I can help it, when she forces herself upon me
continually," returned his wife. "I must either deep the doors
locked, or live in constant terror."

"It's bad, I know," said he, smoothing her glossy hair, "but then,
she's old, you know. Have you seen 'Lena?"

"No, neither do I wish to, if she's at all like her grandmother,"
answered Mrs. Livingstone.