"Then it was Merriweather that she loved?"
"Yes. And young Paine went abroad, and joined the British army and was killed in India. So nobody was happy, and all because there was,
probably, a flowing bowl at the harvest ball. I am glad they don't do it that way now. Just think of my Randy stripped to his shirt and with pistols for two. We are more civilized in these days and I'm glad of it."
"Are we?" said the Major; "I'm not sure. But I hope so."
Randy came by just then and spoke to them. "Are you getting everything you want, Mother?"
"Yes, indeed. The Major looked after me. I've had salad twice, and everything else——"
"That sounds greedy, but it isn't, not when you think of the groaning boards of other days. Has she been telling you about them, Major?"
"Yes, she has peopled the room with ghosts——"
"Now, Major!"
"Pleasant ghosts—in lace ruffles and velvet coats, smoking long pipes around a punch bowl; beautiful ghosts in patches and powder," he made an expressive gesture; "they have mingled with the rest of you—shadow-shapes of youth and loveliness."