With a sigh the little old lady ate the curds, looking about her with curious eyes. “Why, we're right across the street from the old Price house!” she said.
“Did you know them, mother?” demanded Miss North.
“Dear me, yes,” said Mrs. North, twinkling; “why, I'd forgotten all about it, but the eldest boy—Now, what was his name? Al—something. Alfred,—Albert; no, Alfred. He was a beau of mine.”
“Mother! I don't think it's refined to use such a word.”
“Well, he wanted me to elope with him,” Mrs. North said, gayly; “if that isn't being a beau, I don't know what is. I haven't thought of it for years.”
“If you've finished your curds you must lie down,” said Miss North.
“Oh, I'll just look about—”
“No; you are tired. You must lie down.”
“Who is that stout old gentleman going into the Price house?” Mrs. North said, lingering at the window.
“Oh, that's your Alfred Price,” her daughter answered; and added that she hoped her mother would be pleased with the house. “We have boarded so long, I think you'll enjoy a home of your own.”