"Mebby you want me to say Miss Livingstone," said she, "but I shan't.
I'll call her Miss Nichols, or Matilda, just which she chooses."

Of course Mrs. Livingstone chose the latter, wincing, though, every
time she heard it. Dreading a scene which he knew was sure to follow
a disclosure of his engagement with Miss Nancy, Mr. Livingstone had
requested his mother to keep it from his wife, and she, appreciating
his motive, promised secrecy, lamenting the while the ill-fortune
which had prevented Nancy from being her daughter-in-law, and
dwelling frequently upon the comfort she should take were Nancy there
in Matilda's place. On the whole, however, she was tolerably
contented; the novelty of Kentucky life pleased her, and at last,
like most northern people, she fell in with the habits of those
around her. Still her Massachusetts friends were not forgotten, and
many a letter, wonderful for its composition and orthography, found
its way to Nancy Scovandyke, who wrote in return that "some time or
other she should surely visit Kentucky," asking further if the "big
bugs" didn't prefer eastern teachers for their children, and hinting
at her desire to engage in that capacity when she came south!

"Now, that's the very thing," exclaimed Mrs. Nichols, folding the
letter (directed wrong side up) and resuming her knitting. "Nancy's
larnin' is plenty good enough to teach Caroline and Anny, and I mean
to speak to John about it right away."

"I wouldn't do any such thing," said 'Lena, seeing at a glance how
such a proposal would be received.

"Why not?" asked Mrs. Nichols, and 'Lena replied, "I don't think
Nancy would suit Aunt Livingstone at all, and besides that, they've