Betsy Foster’s eyes, suddenly reminiscent, did not suit in their expression the brusqueness of her tone. She saw again her young self, heart-sick with the disappointment of her girlish fancy, leaving this little village for the city, and finding a haven with the bride who became her friend as well as mistress. “I did, too,” she repeated. “It was my silver weddin’ only last week, when Mr. Irving had his twenty-fourth birthday.” “Is Irving that old? Bless me! Then,” hopefully, “if he’s twenty-four he don’t need to be tied to your apron-strings. Strikes me you’re as much of a widow as I am a widower. There ain’t many o’ the Bruce family left for you to be married to. After Irving’s mother died, I can see plain enough why you were a lot o’ help to Mr. Bruce; but when he married again you didn’t have any call to look after him any longer; and seein’ he died about the same time poor Annie did, you’ve been free as air these five years. You don’t need to pretend you think such an awful lot o’ the widder Bruce, ’cause I know ye don’t. Don’t ye suppose I remember how all your feathers stood on end when Mr. Bruce married her?” Betsy gave a fleeting glance over her shoulder toward the window of the cottage. “’Twasn’t natural that I should want to see anybody in Irving’s mother’s place, but she’s—” “I remember as if ’twas yesterday,” interrupted Hiram, “how you said ’twas Irving she married him for; how that she could never keep her fingers out of any pie, and she didn’t like the hats Mr. Bruce bought for Irving, so she married him to choose ’em herself.” Betsy’s lips twitched in a short laugh. “Well, I guess there was somethin’ in that,” she answered. Hiram pursued what he considered his advantage. “When Irving was on the football team at college, you told me yourself, standin’ right by this gate, that she’d go to the game, and when she wasn’t faintin’ because he was knocked out, she was hollerin’ at him how to play.” Betsy bridled. “Well, what’s all this for?” she demanded. “It’s to show you plain as the nose on your face that if you ever was married to the Bruce family you’re a widder now; just as much as I’m a widower.” “No, sir, for better or for worse,” returned Betsy doggedly. “Get out. They’re dead, Mr. and Mrs. Bruce, both dead; and the widder Bruce nothin’ at all to you.” “Stepmother to Mr. Irving,” declared Betsy. “Well, he’s used to it by this time. Had twelve years of it. Holy mackerel, that kid twenty-four! I can’t realize it. His mother—” “No, no,” said Betsy quickly. “Well, _she_ anyway, Mrs. Bruce, went over to Europe to meet him last year, didn’t she, when she took you?” “Of course she did. He went abroad when he left college, and do you suppose she could stand it not to be in part of his trip and tell him what to do?” “There now! It’s plain how you feel toward _that_ member o’ the family.” “But I told you, didn’t I? Can’t you understand English? I told you ‘for better or for _worse_.’”