I have often wondered how my wife's Aunt Sophy came to be so fond of me from the very beginning of our acquaintance. Up to the time that she visited us at Waydean we had met only casually, yet at the end of that short visit we parted the warmest friends; indeed, she embraced me with motherly affection and implored me to take good care of myself and not work too hard. What, she suggested with tender solicitude, would Marion and dear little Paul do without me if I shortened my life by overwork? I was deeply affected by her thoughtfulness; my eyes glistened with emotion as I promised to be careful, for the mental picture of my family sorrowing over my worn-out frame made me realize what a loss I would be. But whatever her good opinion was based upon, force of circumstances tended to confirm it, for she found many details of our domestic economies that coincided with her ideas of good management, and never failed to attribute to me more than my proper share of credit for the same. It was impossible for me to advance an opinion on any subject without her enthusiastic approval, but whether she approved of the ideas because they were mine, or liked me because of them, I could not determine. Another thing that made her visit enjoyable was Marion's flattering desire to show me up in the best possible light. I was surprised to find that I could work through my repertory of entertaining stories, and yet have my wife join in Aunt Sophy's appreciative laugh with the zest of a first hearing; and whenever Aunt Sophy nodded to her in confidential admiration of my cleverness she would respond with a most charming flush of gratified pride. Not only that, but I have heard her, on occasions when I was supposed to be absorbed in my writing in the next room, allude to my admirable qualities in an artfully casual way; even stating, when the conversation turned on mining stocks, that she was thankful to say that Henry couldn't be induced to put a dollar into any such scheme! But nothing I had said or done impressed Aunt Sophy as favorably as Marion's version of my opinion on second marriages. During the two months she spent with us at Waydean before her marriage I was often embarrassed by her expressions of gratitude to me for being instrumental in helping her to make up her mind. No one, she said repeatedly, had made her see her duty as clearly as I, and no one else could have said the same things (at this point she always paused to take off her glasses and wipe her eyes) in such beautiful and sympathetic language; young people so often thought that older persons had no right to marry. Nor could I disclaim the sentiments attributed to me when I saw what a comfort they were to the dear old lady.