"I thank you from my heart, madam." The young man bowed--that is, he
made an angle of himself for a moment. He moved the chair to which she
had motioned him, but did not sit down. "It is impossible for me to
sit," said he, fervently, "while a lady stands."

The quaintness and novelty in his accent made them unable to test his
manners by any known standard. For all they knew, the most cultured
inhabitant of Boston, New York, or Washington might have behaved
precisely in this way.

"Sit down, mamma," whispered Blue and Red, with praiseworthy
consideration for their mother's fatigue; "we'll finish the dishes."

The girls perceived what, perhaps, the stranger had already perceived,
that if their mother consented to sit there was a chance of a more equal
conversation. And Mrs. Rexford sat down. Her mind had been
unconsciously relieved from the exercise of great dignity by the fact
that the stranger did not appear to notice her daughters, apparently
assuming that they were only children.

"It is _real_ kind of you, ma'am, to be so kind to me. I don't think
_any_ lady has seemed so kind to me since I saw my own mother last."

He looked pensively at the stove.

"Your mother lives in the United States, I suppose." He shook his head
sadly. "In heaven now."

"Ah!" said Mrs. Rexford; and then in a minute, "I am glad to see that
you feel her loss, I am sure." Here she got half off her chair to poke