Now, for all that this old woman was so sharp of tongue, the good of her household lay very near to her heart, and her deeds were widely at variance with her words. Moreover, her pride in her son was very great, and Eli himself was not a more watchful and cautious politician than she, when need arose. A breach of hospitality was not less abhorrent to her than an infringement of the ten commandments; but hard upon the sense of her discourtesy came a poignant and politic monition for the interests of the impending election. “Teck! Teck!” she cried, quaveringly, “’twarn’t _ye_ ez them two sillies met an’ ’lowed war a strange man?” “I tole ye, granny,” declared the self-sufficient Isabel, buffeted by the storm of emotions the crisis had roused, but gallantly weathering it,—“I tole ye he ’lowed ez he didn’t know me an’ Marcelly, but he knowed dad, an’ he war kin ter Ben Bowles. _Kin ter Bowles_,—I _said_ it, an’ I _said_ it.” “Shet up! Who knows ye an’ Marcelly, ennyhows? Marcelly hev shot up hyar like Jonah’s gourd in a single night,—tall ez a bean-pole an’ seventeen year old. I’ll be bound ennybody ez hed nuthin’ ter do but ter medjure Marcelly would find an inch lengthwise onter her fur every day she lives. _Who_ knows ye an’ Marcelly, ennyhows? Powerful fine folks ter know, I’ll be bound! Teck,”—she turned suavely to the visitor,—“ye ain’t tellin’ me ’twar _you-uns_ sure enough, what I hev knowed sence ye war a-toddlin’ roun’ yer mam’s knee—a mighty good ’oman she war, an’ the end she made war a sampler to the saints, fur I war thar an’ see her takin’ off—bless the Lord fur the saints!—’twarn’t _ye_, Teck, ez them gals war a-makin’ sech a miration over, ez ef they hed fund a mare’s nest?” “Yes’m,” he assented quietly, “’twar me.” She noted the heavy frown gathering in the shadow of Eli Strobe’s big hat, drawn far over his brow. He cast a slow glance toward the group; then maintaining his mute, surly dignity, he gazed steadfastly forward at the glooming mountains. Marcella, still grave and silent, had risen from her chair, more circumspectly this time, and the spinning-wheel was not overturned, although the “frequent visitor” put up his arm to guard against it. He had been greatly edified by the disastrous commotion in the conversation, and had briskly turned his placid face, lighted with an animation that might have hitherto seemed impossible, from one speaker to the other. A shade of regret crossed it as he noted Marcella’s movement, but it was in a jocose undertone that he demanded, “Whar be ye a-travelin’ ter, Marcelly?” “I be a-goin’ ter dish up supper,” she answered stiffly, and with her voice at its usual pitch. She held herself a trifle more erect than usual; some sudden defiant intimations of pride were perceptible in her manner, as she threaded her way through the group, but in passing Jepson her long lashes swept her red cheek, for she could not encounter his gaze.