The day after New Year's Mary went back to Boston and to school.
The long winter term--the term which Madeline Talbott, whose father was a judge, called "the extreme penalty"--began. Boston's famous east winds, so welcome in summer and so raw and penetrating in winter, brought their usual allowance of snow and sleet, and the walks from Pinckney Street to the school and back were not always pleasant. Mrs. Wyeth had a slight attack of tonsillitis and Miss Pease a bronchial cold, but they united in declaring these afflictions due entirely to their own imprudence and not in the least to the climate, which, being like themselves, thoroughly Bostonian, was expected to maintain a proper degree of chill.
Mary, fortunately, escaped colds and illness. The walks in all sorts of weather did her good and her rosy cheeks and clear eyes were competent witnesses to her state of health. She was getting on well with her studies, and the Misses Cabot, not too easy to please, were apparently pleased with her. At home--for she had come to consider Mrs. Wyeth's comfortable house a home, although not of course to be compared with the real home at South Harniss--at Mrs.
Wyeth's she was more of a favorite than ever, not only with the mistress of the house, but with Miss Pease, who was considered eccentric and whose liking was reported hard to win. The two ladies had many talks concerning the girl.
"She is remarkable," declared Miss Pease on one occasion.
"Considering her lack of early advantages, I consider her ease of manner and self-possession remarkable. She is a prodigy."
Mrs. Wyeth sniffed. She enjoyed hearing Mary praised, but she objected to her friend's choice of words.
"For mercy sake, Letitia," she said, "don't call her that. The word 'prodigy' always reminds me of the Crummles infant, the one with the green parasol and the white--er--lingerie, in 'Nicholas Nickleby.'"
Miss Pease smiled with the superiority of the corrected who is about to correct.
"I don't see why that should bring the individual you mention to mind," she said. "If I remember correctly--and I was brought up on Dickens--she was a 'phenomenon,' not a prodigy. However, it makes no material difference what you and I call Mary Lathrop, the fact remains that she is an exceptionally well-behaved, good-mannered, polite--"
"Sweet, healthy girl," interrupted Mrs. Wyeth, finishing the sentence. "I know that as well as you do, Letitia Pease. And you know I know it. Now, what have you in your mind concerning Mary? I know there is something, because you have been hinting at it for more than a week. What is it?"
Miss Pease looked wise.
"Oh, I have a plan," she said. "I can't tell even you, Emily, just what it is as yet. You see, it isn't really a plan, but only an idea so far. She doesn't know it herself, of course."
"Hum! Is it a pleasant plan--or idea, whichever you call it? That is, will she think it pleasant when she learns what it is?"
"I certainly hope so."
"Look here, Letitia," with sudden suspicion, "you aren't planning some ridiculous sentimental nonsense for that child, are you?
You're not trying to make a match for her, I hope?"
"Match? What are you talking about? If you mean am I trying to get her married to some MAN," with a scornful emphasis on the word, "I most certainly am not.
"Humph! Well, if she ever is married, I presume it will be to a man, or an imitation of one. All right, Letitia. I am glad your great idea isn't that, whatever it is."
"It is not. You know my opinion of marriage, Emily Wyeth. And, so far as matchmaking is concerned, I should say you were a more likely subject for suspicion. That young relative of yours, Sam Keith, appears to be coming here a great deal of late. He MAY come solely to see you, but I doubt it."
Mrs. Wyeth smiled grimly.
"Samuel has been rather prevalent recently," she admitted, "but don't let that trouble you, Letitia. I have had my eye on the young man. Samuel is as susceptible to pretty girls as children are to the measles. And his attacks remind me of the measles as much as anything, sudden outbreak, high fever and delirium, then a general cooling off and a rapid recovery. This seizure isn't alarming and there is absolutely no danger of contagion. Mary doesn't take him seriously at all."
"And how about that other young man?--Smith, I think his name is.
He has called here twice since Christmas."
Mrs. Wyeth seemed to be losing patience.
"Well, what of it?" she demanded.
"Why, nothing that I know of, except, perhaps--"
"There is no perhaps at all. The Smith boy appears to be a very nice young fellow, and remarkably sensible for a young person in this hoity-toity age. From what I can learn, his people, although they do live out West--down in a mine or up on a branch or a ranch or something--are respectable. Why shouldn't he call to see Mary occasionally, and why shouldn't she see him? Goodness gracious!
What sort of a world would this be if young people didn't see each other? Don't tell me that you never had any young male acquaintances when you were a girl, Letitia, because I shan't believe you."
Miss Pease straightened in her chair.
"It is not likely that I shall make any such preposterous statement," she snapped.
So the "young male acquaintance" called occasionally--not too often--
