The farm-people in the sleepy, sunny Delaware neighborhood have
elected Kitty a chief favorite. "A gentle, good-natured little woman,
with no opinions of her own. A bit too fond of dress perhaps, and a
silly, doting mother, but the most neighborly, lovable creature alive,
after all."

Miss Muller was down in St. George's lecturing last fall, and made
her mark, as she always does. But the Guinness men were now hopelessly
conservative. She made her home with Kitty.

"A fine woman," old Peter said the morning after she was gone.

"Never knew a woman with a finer mind," said Hugh. "Nor many men."

"She nurses that dog as if it were a baby," said Kitty sharply. "It's
silly! It's disgusting!"

Peter twanged his bow on the porch, looking down over the great
farm-slopes stretching away in the morning light.

"We have everything to make life good to us, Hugh," he said after
Kitty had gone. "And the best thing, to my notion, is an old-fashioned
woman in the house, with no notion of ruling, like that Muller girl
and her set."

Hugh was romping with his boy: "Do you know your first business in
this world, sir? To take care of your mother," glancing at the garden,
where Kitty, in her pretty white dress, was clipping chrysanthemums.