It was a task which Mrs. Ross did not shrink from, for she had no fear of hurting the feelings of Uncle Obed, or, rather, she did not care whether he chose to feel hurt or not.
Uncle Obed was called down to supper, and took his seat at the handsome tea table, with its silver service. Colonel Ross, to his credit be it said, received his wife’s uncle much more cordially than his own niece had done, and caused Uncle Obed’s face to beam with pleasure.
“Railly, Lucinda,” said Uncle Obed, as he looked over the table, “you have a very comfortable home, I declare.”
“Yes, we try to have things comfortable around us,” answered Mrs. Ross, coldly.
“Years ago, when you and your mother lived out in Illinoy, I didn’t think you’d come to live in a house like this.”
“Yes, people live in an outlandish way out there,” said Mrs. Ross.
“But they have happy homes. When Mary lived, I enjoyed life, though the old farmhouse seemed rough and plain, compared with your handsome home. I’m glad to see my sister’s child living so well, with all the comforts that money can buy.”
The old man’s tone was hearty, and there was a smile of genuine pleasure on his rugged face. He was forced to admit that his niece was not as cordial as he hoped, but, then, “Lucinda was always reserved and quiet-like,” he said to himself, and so excused her.
It must be said for Colonel Ross that he knew comparatively little about his wife’s early life, and didn’t dream of the large obligations she was under to Uncle Obed. He was a rich man, and the consciousness of wealth led him to assume airs of importance, but he was not as cold or heartless as his wife, and would have insisted on his wife’s treating her uncle better had he known the past. Even as it was, he was much more gracious and affable than Mrs. Ross to the old man, whom he had never seen before.
As for Philip, he was a second edition of his mother, and never addressed a word to Uncle Obed. When the latter spoke to him, he answered in monosyllables.