"Are you going out this morning, Bee?" asked her mother. "It's very fine, and you are fond of a row on the water in the sunshine. It's wonderful to me how your skin never tans nor freckles, child. You might be out in all weathers without its doing you harm." Mrs. Meadowsweet was seated in her arm-chair. In her hand she held a piece of knitting. She was making a quilt for Beatrice's bed. This quilt was composed of little squares of an elaborate pattern, with much honey-combing, and many other fancy and delicate stitches ornamenting it. Mrs. Meadowsweet liked to feel her fingers employed over Beatrice's quilt. "With each stitch I give her a thought," she said to herself. "Beatrice will sleep soft and warm under this covering when it is finished," the old mother used to say, "for every bit of it is put together with love." She was knitting Beatrice's quilt now, her chair drawn up as usual to face the sunny garden, and on the footstool at her feet her favorite tabby cat was curled. "It is too hot for me to go out this morning," replied Beatrice. "So for that reason I don't go, and also for another. Captain Bertram has promised to call." "Eh?" queried Mrs. Meadowsweet. To call, has he? Maybe you'd like to ask him to lunch, child?" "No, mother, I don't think so." "You can if you like, Trixie. Say the word, and I'll have a spring chicken done to a turn, and a cream, and a jelly put in hand." "Oh, no, mother, he won't want to pay such a long call." "Well, he's a nice young man. I have nothing to say against him, he carries himself nearly as upright as your poor father did, and he has a pleasant, affable way with old and young alike. I haven't a word to say against the young man, not a word. When he comes I'll just step into the garden, for you two young things would rather have your chatter alone. Oh, you needn't tell me, Trixie, I know. I was young once, and I never cared to have my nonsense listened to. By the way, I might ask Captain Bertram to take a box of Eleazer's Life-pills to his poor mother. I was recommending them to her, and I'm convinced they are just the medicine for her complaint. And, Bee, I wish you'd remind me to tell Jane to send over a jug of buttermilk to the Bells. I did think that poor child Matty looked so frightfully burnt yesterday, and there's nothing like bathing the face and neck in buttermilk, to get rid of the ugly redness. My word, child, is that a ring at the hall door? Then I'll be off, but I'll be in the garden handy within call, in case you should want me, my pet." As Captain Bertram entered the drawing-room Mrs. Meadowsweet's trailing skirts might have been seen disappearing down the steps which led from the French window to the garden. Beatrice said to herself with an inward smile: "From the dear old mother's way, any one would suppose I was going to receive a lover," and then she raised her eyes, and a very lover-like gaze met hers.