"I don't know nothin' about it, but I tell you just what it is, Miss Jones, if you are a-growing so mighty partic'lar about your victuals, just cause your darter's a-coming home with a rich beau, you'd better cook 'em yourself; nobody craves the job," retorted the old woman, in her shrillest voice, shutting the door with a jar that shook the whole apartment. "Now the cross old thing will go off just to spite me," muttered Mrs. Jones, trying to smother her vexation, and, opening the door, she called to the angry "help:" "Why, Mrs. Bates, do come back, you did not stay to hear me out. Save the chickens' liver and chop them up with bread and butter; season it nicely, and I dare say, you will be as well pleased with it as can be." "Well, and if I du, what shall I season with--sage or summer-savory? I'm sure I'm willing to du my best," answered the partially mollified old woman. "A little of both, Mrs. Bates--oh, dear! won't you come back and see if you can make my gown meet? There--do I look fit to be seen?" "Now, what do you ask that for Miss Jones? you know you look as neat as a new pin. This is a mighty purty calerco, ain't it, though?" The squire's lady had not forgotten all the feelings of her younger days. And the old woman's compliment had its effect. "I will send down to the store for some tea and molasses for you to take home to-night, Mrs. Bates, and--" "Mother! mother!" shouted young Ned, bolting into the room, "the sloop has tacked, and is making for the creek. I see three people on the deck, and I'm almost sure father was one of them--they will be here in no time." "Gracious me!" muttered the old woman, hurrying away to the kitchen. Mrs. Jones smoothed down the folds of her new dress with both hands, as she ran down to the "out-room." She took her station in a stiff, high-backed chair by the window, with a look of consequential gentility, as if she had done nothing but sit still and receive company all her life. After a few minutes' anxious watching, she saw her husband and daughter coming up from the creek, accompanied by a slight, dark, and remarkably graceful young man, elaborately, but not gayly dressed, for the fashion of the time, and betraying even in his air and walk peculiar traits of high-breeding and refinement. His head was slightly bent, and he seemed to be addressing the young lady who leaned on his arm.