“Mother would be so glad to see an old neighbor,” the honest youth said, “for she did not know many folks in the city. _’Till_ had made some flashy acquaintances, of whom he did not think much, and they kept a few boarders, but nobody had called, and mother was lonesome. He wished Miss Barlow would come; she would have no difficulty in finding them,” and on a bit of paper he marked out the route of the Fourth Avenue cars, which passed their door, and which Aunt Betsy would take after arriving at the New Haven depot. “If he knew when she was coming, he would meet her,” he said, but Aunt Betsy could not tell; she was not quite certain whether she should go at all, she was so violently opposed. Still she did not give it up entirely, and when, a few days after Tom’s return to New York, there came a pressing invitation from the daughter Matilda, or Mattie, as she signed herself, the fever again ran high, and this time with but little hope of its abating. “We shall be delighted, both mother and me,” Mattie wrote. “I will show you all the lions of the city, and when you get tired of us you can go up to Mrs. Cameron’s. I know exactly where they live, and have seen her at the opera in full dress, looking like a queen.” Over the last part of this letter Aunt Betsy pondered for some time. “That as good an Orthodox as Miss Tubbs should let her girl go to the opera, passed her. She had wondered at Helen’s going, but then, she was a ’Piscopal, and them ’Piscopals had queer notions about usin’ the world and abusin’ it.” Still, as Helen did _not_ attend the theatre, and _did_ attend the opera, there must be a difference between the two places, and into the old lady’s heart there slowly crept the thought that possibly _she_ might try the opera, too, if Tilda Tubbs would go, and promise never to tell the folks at Silverton.