"You are evidently a married woman, sister," the bold rascal said, seating himself in front of his captive, and looking at her in the dignified manner which distinguished him. "I suppose you were very handsome as a girl, and the men fell desperately in love with you, and were very miserable in consequence. But I will let you into a secret; you are bravely over your beauty now. I suppose your mother braided your hair, and did all the work, that your hands might be as pretty as your face; and certainly she believed that while the boys might possibly fail in life, _you_ would be all right, and marry a prince, and repay her for her kindness. Your poor mother rented a pianow for you, too, I reckon, and hired you a teacher; and when you could drum a little, she thought you could play a great deal, and felt repaid for all her trouble, believing that you would turn out well, and make your brothers feel ashamed of themselves for being so worthless. And while I don't know it, I believe that she paid five dollars to somebody to make you a artist, and that you painted roses and holly-hocks on saucers and plates, which your poor mother, in the kindness of her heart, recognized, and greatly admired. I shall believe this as long as I live, for you _look_ like a painter and a pianowist out of practice." This train of thought amused Mr. Whittle so much that he paused as if to laugh; but he apparently thought better of it, though his scalp crawled over on his forehead,--an oddity which distinguished him when he was amused. "Did your poor mother get to sleep peacefully at night, after working all day for you?" inquired Mr. Whittle fiercely. "You don't answer; but you know she didn't. You know she spent the night in wrangling with your father to induce him to give her money that she might buy you more ribbons and millinery and dry goods; and kid gloves, probably, although your brother Bill was out at his toes, and hadn't so much as a cotton handkercher; and how your mother went on when your husband came courting you! He wasn't good enough for you _then_, whoever he was; though I'll bet he thinks he's too good for you _now_, whoever he is; and what a time you must have had borrowing silverware and chairs for the wedding! I've been married, and I know. Your tired mother hoped that when her children grew up they would relieve her, and love her, and be good to her; but I'll bet you find fault because she didn't 'do' more for you; and that your brother Bill, who ran away because you had all the pie in the house, is taking care of her, providin' she aint dead from bother and too much work, which is likely. And after all this trouble in your behalf, look at you now!" The little woman seemed to be paying some attention to what he was saying, for she looked at him timidly out of the corners of her black eyes a few times, and occasionally forgot to wring her hands and cry.