Once she thought to tell who the lawyer was, and perhaps enhance her own merits in the eyes of her auditor by announcing herself as aunt to Mrs. Wilford Cameron, of whom she had no doubt he had heard—nay, more, whom he possibly knew, inasmuch as his home was in New York, though he spent much of his time at West Point, where he had been educated. But certain disagreeable remembrances of Aunt Hannah’s parting injunction, “not to tell everybody in the cars that she was Katy’s aunt,” kept her silent on that point, and so Lieutenant Bob Reynolds failed to be enlightened with regard to the relationship existing between the fastidious Wilford Cameron of Madison Square, and the quaint old lady whose very first act on entering the car had amused him vastly. At a glance he saw that she was unused to traveling, and as the car was crowded, he had kindly offered his seat near the door, taking the side one under the window, and so close to her that she gave him her cap-box to hold while she adjusted her other bundles. This done, and herself comfortably settled, she was just remaking that she liked being close to the door, in case of a fire, when the conductor appeared, extending his hand officially towards her as the first one convenient. For an instant Aunt Betsy scanned him closely, thinking she surely had never seen him before, but as he seemed to claim acquaintance, she could not find it in her kind heart to ignore him altogether, and so she grasped the offered hand, which she tried to shake, saying apologetically, “Pretty well, thank you, but you’ve got the better of me, as I don’t justly recall your name.” Instantly the eyes of the young man under the window met those of the conductor with a look which changed the frown gathering in the face of the latter into a comical smile, as he withdrew his hand and shouted, “Ticket, madam, your ticket!” “For the land’s sake, have I got to give that up so quick, when it’s at the bottom of my satchel,” Aunt Betsy replied, somewhat crest-fallen at her mistake, and fumbling in her pocket for the key, which was finally produced, and one by one the paper parcels of fennel, caraway, and catnip, dried plums, peaches and yeast cakes, were taken out, until at the very bottom, as she had said, the ticket was found, the conductor waiting patiently, and advising her, by way of avoiding future trouble, to pin the card to her shawl, where it could be seen. “A right nice man,” was Aunt Betsy’s mental comment, but for a long time there was a red spot on her cheeks as she felt that she had made herself ridiculous, and hoped the _girls_ would never hear of it.