"She didn't give no name, sir, and she wouldn't say what she wanted, though I asked if a message wouldn't do; but she said her business was too particular for that, sir,"
"What sort of person is she?"
The corners of the man's mouth twitched, and he had to give a little cough to conceal an incipient chuckle.
"Beg your pardon, sir. She appears to be from the country, sir. Quite a countrified, homely old body, sir."
(Dr. Carter and his mother)
Perhaps the odor of the violets and the country memories they had called up made him more amiably inclined; but instead of the sharp, decided refusal the servant expected, "Tell her it is long past my time for seeing patients, and I am busy, and she must call again to-morrow," he said, "Well, show her in;" and the man withdrew in surprise.
"Countrified, homely old body." Somehow the description brought back to his mind his mother coming down the brick path from the door at home, with her Sunday bonnet on, and her pattens in her hand, and the heavy-headed double stocks and columbines tapping against her short petticoats. The doctor smiled to himself; and even while he smiled the door was pushed open, and before him he saw, with a background of the gas-lit hall and the respectful Hyder, by this time developed into an incontrollable grin, his mother, in her Sunday bonnet and with her pattens in her hand.