She wore a thin cap on top of the curly head, which was now wind-blown out of all order. “Come, Gainor,” she cried, seeing us; “help me to shell my peas. Thou shalt have some. They are come in a ship from the Bermudas. What a pretty pale green the pods are! I should like an apron of that colour.” “I have the very thing, dear. Shall it be the minuet pattern, or plain?” “Oh, plain. Am I not a Friend? _Une Amie? Ciel!_ but it is droll in French. Sarah Logan is twice as gay as I, but John does not love such vanities. _Quant a moi, je les adore_. It seems odd to have a colour to a religion. I wonder if drab goodness be better than red goodness. But what is wrong, Gainor? Yes, there is something. Hugh, thy collar is torn; how careless of me not to have mended it!” Then my Aunt Gainor, saying nothing of my especial difficulty, and leaving out, too, her London news, related with remarkable clearness the reasons why my father should go overseas in the early fall and be gone for a year. The mother went on quietly shelling the peas, and losing no word. When Gainor had done, the bowl of peas was set aside, and my mother put back her curls, fixed her blue eyes on her sister-in-law, and was silent for a moment longer. At last she said, “It were best, for many reasons best. I see it,” and she nodded her head affirmatively. “But my son? my Hugh?” “You will have him with you at home. Everything will go on as usual, except that John will be amusing himself in London.” At this the little lady leaped up, all ablaze, so to speak. Never had I seen her so moved. “What manner of woman am I, Gainer Wynne, that I should let my husband go alone on the seas, and here and there, without me? I will not have it. My boy is my boy; God knows I love him; but my husband comes first now and always, and thou art cruel to wish to part us.” “But I never wished to part you. Go with him, Marie. God bless your sweet heart! Leave me your boy; he cannot go. As God lives, I will take care of him!” Upon this the two women fell to weeping in each other’s arms, a thing most uncommon for my Aunt Gainor. Then they talked it all over, as if John Wynne were not; when it would be, and what room I was to have, and my clothes, and the business, and so on--all the endless details wherewith the cunning affection of good women knows to provide comfort for us, who are so apt to be unthankful. It amazed me to see how quickly it was settled, and still more to learn that my father did not oppose, but fell in with all their plans.