"Thank you," retorted my mother. "I don't choose to have my son
turned into a footman, if you do."

"Well, hadn't you better go and dress?" was my father's next remark.

"It won't take me long to put on an apron," was my mother's reply.

"I was looking forward to seeing you in that new frock," said my
father. In the case of another, one might have attributed such a
speech to tact; in the case of my father, one felt it was a happy
accident.

My mother confessed--speaking with a certain indulgence, as one does
of one's own follies when past--that she herself also had looked
forward to seeing herself therein. Threatening discord melted into
mutual sympathy.

"I so wanted everything to be all right, for your sake, Luke," said my
mother; "I know you were hoping it would help on the business."

"I was only thinking of you, Maggie, dear," answered my father. "You
are my business."

"I know, dear," said my mother. "It is hard."

The key turned in the lock, and we all stood quiet to listen.

"She's come back alone," said my mother. "I knew it was hopeless."