The girls were somewhat taken aback by this, but Kate rallied in a moment. “You can’t hurt our feelings by telling us we aren’t as good looking as mother was,” she said gayly, “for we know she was a regular beauty. Father’s told us that over and over.”
“I’ll warrant he thought so,” chuckled her grandfather, “and he wasn’t the only one, neither. Why all the likeliest young fellows in town came courting your mother. She didn’t have to take up with a Western man because she couldn’t get anybody nearer home.”
“Perhaps it was because she had a chance to compare the Western man with those around here that she did take up with him,” said Kate, quickly.
It was a fair retort; but the old gentleman’s forehead puckered for a moment as if he were not quite prepared for it. Before he could say anything in reply his sister had changed the subject, by asking, in her abrupt way, with her eyes fixed on her younger niece, “What do you think of this country?”
It is the stereotyped question from the old resident to the newcomer in all parts of the world. Perhaps, convenient as it is in bridging over the awkwardness of first acquaintance, it would be oftener omitted if society remembered that dictum of Dr. Johnson’s, that no one has a right to put you in such a position that you must either hurt him by telling the truth, or hurt yourself by not telling it. Kate Northmore had never faced the alternative under very crucial conditions, but whatever twinge there might be she preferred on general principles to resign to the other party, and she did so promptly now.
“Well, I can’t say I’m very much struck with the looks of it,” she said frankly. “It’s different from ours, you know; and these little bits of fields are so funny, all checkered off with stone walls. I haven’t got used to them yet.”
Miss Saxon looked at her niece without speaking, but the grandfather bristled at this. “Hm!” he grunted, “You Western folks seem to think nothing’s of any account unless it’s big. ’Taint the size of things, but what you do with ’em, that counts.”
“Well, it’s a wonder to me what you can do with some of this land of yours, it’s so rough and poor,” said Kate, lightly. “I don’t see how the farmers manage to make a living, scratching round among the rocks.” Then, with a good-natured laugh, she added: “Oh, we don’t despise the littles, out our way, as much as you think; but when it comes to wheat and corn, and things of that sort, we do like to see a lot of it growing all together. It looks as if there was enough to go round, you know, and makes people feel sort of free and easy.”
Perhaps, in his heart, Ruel Saxon doubted whether it was good for people to feel free and easy in this transient mortal state, but he had no chance just then to discuss the moral advantages of large labor and small returns, for Esther exclaimed, with a glance at her sister which was half reproachful: “But there are so many other things in a country besides the crops! For my part, I think New England is perfectly beautiful. I believe I’m in love with it all.”
Miss Katharine Saxon turned her head and looked at the girl attentively. The mother must have been very pretty indeed if she had ever looked prettier than Esther did at that moment. A delicate pink had risen in her cheeks, and her brown eyes seemed unusually soft and lustrous in the warmth with which she had spoken. She had made a lucky suggestion, and her grandfather took his cue instantly.