Had he come accidentally upon her without ever having met with Katy, he
would have regarded her as a plain, common country woman, who meant well
if nothing more; but now, alas! with Katy in the foreground, he was
weighing her in a far different balance and finding her sadly wanting.
He had not seen Aunt Hannah, nor yet Aunt Betsy, for they were in the
kitchen, making the last preparations for the dinner to which Morris was
to remain. He was in the parlor now and in his presence Wilford felt
more at ease, more as if he had found an affinity. Uncle Ephraim was not
there, having eaten his bowl of milk and gone back to his stone wall, so
that upon Morris devolved the duties of host, and he courteously led the
way to the little dining-room, which Wilford confessed was not
uninviting, with its clean floor and walls, and the table so loaded with
the good things Aunt Hannah had prepared, burning and browning her
wrinkled face, which nevertheless smiled pleasantly upon the stranger
presented as Mr. Cameron.

About Aunt Hannah there was something naturally ladylike, and Wilford
saw it; but when it came to Aunt Betsy, of whom he had never heard, he
felt for a moment as if by being there in such promiscuous company he
had somehow fallen from the Cameron's high estate. By way of pleasing
the girls and doing honor to their "beau," as she called Wilford, Aunt
Betsy had donned her very best attire, wearing the slate-colored pongee
dress, bought twenty years before, and actually sporting a set of
Helen's cast off hoops, which being quite too large for the dimensions
of her scanty skirt, gave her anything but the stylish appearance she
intended.

"Oh, auntie!" was Katy's involuntary exclamation, while Helen bit her
lip with vexation, for the hoop had been an after thought to Aunt Betsy
just before going in to dinner.