“I expected to find you in poverty, perhaps in want,” said Harry, puzzled more and more. “I didn’t think to see you dressed like a queen.”
“It’s mother’s wedding-dress, Harry,” said little Katy, who did not share her mother’s embarrassment.
“Your wedding-dress, mother!” exclaimed Harry, his face clouding. “Who are you going to marry?”
“I did it for the best, Harry,” said his mother, uneasily; “and he has been very kind.”
“Who is he, mother?”
“Squire Turner. He—”
“Squire Turner!” exclaimed Harry, vehemently, springing to his feet; “it is not possible you are thinking of marrying him. He is the worst enemy we have.”
“No, Harry,” said his mother; “you are mistaken there. You must, at least, do him justice. He has been very kind, very kind, indeed. I don’t know how I should have got along, in the sad days after we lost you, but for his kindness.”
“So you think he has been kind, mother?” said Harry, with a peculiar expression.
“Very kind, as Katy can tell you,” said Mrs. Raymond. “Not that this is reason enough to marry him. But it is for Katy’s sake I am going to do it. Squire Turner has promised to give her every advantage, and she will begin to take music-lessons as soon as we are married. I have had very hard work getting along, Harry, and it was a relief to feel that I need have no more anxiety about making a living.”