again--or at least before persons calling themselves by those old names
saw each other. Were they Letty and Alfred--this tousled, tangled,
good-humored old man, ruddy and cowed, and this small, bright-eyed old
lady, led about by a devoted daughter? Certainly these two persons bore
no resemblance to the boy and girl torn from each other's arms that cold
December night. Alfred had been mild and slow; Captain Price (except
when his daughter-in-law raised her finger) was a pleasant old roaring
lion. Letty had been a gay, high-spirited little creature, not as
retiring, perhaps, as a young female should be, and certainly
self-willed; Mrs. North was completely under the thumb of her daughter
Mary. Not that "under the thumb" means unhappiness; Mary North desired
only her mother's welfare, and lived fiercely for that single purpose.
From morning until night (and, indeed, until morning again, for she rose
often from her bed to see that there was no draught from the crack of
the open window), all through the twenty-four hours she was on duty.

When this excellent daughter appeared in Old Chester and said she was
going to hire a house, and bring her mother back to end her days in the
home of her girlhood, Old Chester displayed a friendly interest; when
she decided upon a house on Main Street, directly opposite Captain
Price's, it began to recall the romance of that thwarted elopement.

"Do you suppose she knows that story about old Alfred Price and her
mother?" said Old Chester; and it looked sidewise at Miss North with
polite curiosity. This was not altogether because of her mother's
romantic past, but because of her own manners and clothes. With painful
exactness, Miss North endeavored to follow the fashion; but she looked
as if articles of clothing had been thrown at her and some had stuck. As
to her manners, Old Chester was divided. Mrs. Barkley said she hadn't
any. Dr. Lavendar said she was shy. But, as Mrs. Drayton said, that was