“Dear me,” said Mrs. Smith, in deep sympathy, “I wouldn’t have believed it.” “Oh! my dear, I sometimes think that Carter and I enjoyed ourselves more when we first started life, then we ever shall again—but, dear me, is that some one coming?” “Only Smith. Of course you won’t mind him?” “Not at all. Just another slice of the ham, its perfectly delicious.” It was Mr. Smith who had come up stairs and stopped in the kitchen to wash his hands, which he did twice when Kate Gorman told him of the guest inside. In fact, he stepped into a closet and put on a clean collar and a pair of cuffs, which Kate buttoned for him—first wiping her hands on the dish towel and afterward on her own apron, in a sudden paroxysm of neatness. “There,” said the handmaiden, “yer fit to stand afore the Queen; so just go in and take yer bit of dinner like a gentleman, as ye are intirely.” Smith took courage from this encomium, and entered the next room fresh as cold water could make him, and shedding around a wholesome flavor of yellow soap. Mrs. Carter sprang to her feet, and met her old neighbor half way. “Why, Smith, _is_ this you? Didn’t expect to see me?” “Well, whether or know, I’m glad to see you. How’s Carter?” Mrs. Carter winced a little when her husband’s name was thus mentioned shorn of its appendages; but she answered cheerfully, and, seating herself at the table with a flutter of lace and rustle of silks, commenced on her fresh relay of ham with renewed appetite. “Now, Smith, this is what I call sociable,” she said, looking around for a napkin; but not finding one, she used her lace handkerchief instead. “Your wife and I have been a-talking over old times; now its your turn.” Smith looked at the glittering silk of her dress, and heard the tinkle of her gold chains and bracelets with something like dismay. He was beginning to think the clean cuffs and collar insufficient, and wished from the depths of his heart that he had put on his best coat. “Lovely weather, isn’t it?” said Mrs. Carter, feeling a little innocent triumph in her old friend’s confusion, but compassionating it all the time. “I—I don’t know—that is, it seemed to me this morning that there was a slight indication of a storm,” answered Smith, bringing out his very best language, in lieu of the coat. Mrs. Carter accepted the long word as a compliment to her improved condition, and gently plumed herself upon it. She would gladly have matched his elegance with corresponding erudition, but failed to catch the inspiration, and only said, “Indeed! well, I rather thought so myself.” CHAPTER XXI. A SLIGHT ALTERCATION. “My dear,” said Smith, looking around the table as if he missed something, “have you nothing better than water to offer Mrs. Carter, and this the first time she has honored us?” Mrs. Smith looked around in some bewilderment, then answered with a deprecatory glance at her friend.