“John Livingstone, what do you mean?” said she, “shut that door this minute.”
Feigning not to hear her, John Jr. ran back to the piazza, which he reached just in time to hear the presentation of his sisters.
“This is Carrie, and this is Anna,” said Mr. Livingstone, pointing to each one as he pronounced her name.
Marching straight up to Carrie and extending her hand, Mrs. Nichols exclaimed, “Now I want to know if this is Car’line. I’d no idee she was so big. You pretty well, Car’line?”
Very haughtily Carrie touched the ends of her grandmother’s fingers, and with stately gravity replied that she was well.
Turning next to Anna, Mrs. Nichols continued, “And this is Anny. Looks weakly ’pears to me, kind of blue around the eyes as though she was fitty. Never have fits, do you, dear?”
“No, ma’am,” answered Anna, struggling hard to keep from laughing outright.
Here Mr. Livingstone inquired for his wife, and on being told that she was sick, started for her room.
“Sick? Is your marm sick?” asked Mrs. Nichols of John Jr. “Wall, I guess I’ll go right in and sea if I can’t do somethin’ for her. I’m tolerable good at nussin’.”
Following her son, who did not observe her, she entered unannounced into the presence of her elegant daughter-in-law, who, with a little shriek, covered her head with the bed-clothes. Knowing that she meant well, and never dreaming that she was intruding, Mrs. Nichols walked up to the bedside, saying, “How de do, ’Tilda? I suppose you know I’m your mother—come all the way from Massachusetts to live with you. What is the matter? Do you take anything for your sickness?”