Your head aches wus, don't it? Poor thing! The pennyr'yal
will be steeped directly," she added, in an aside to Madam Conway,
who had groaned aloud as if in pain. Then resuming her story, she
continued, "Better'n six year ago Uncle George, who was a bachelor,
died, leaving the heft of his property, seventy-five thousand dollars
or more, to my son, who is now top of the heap in the store, and worth
one hundred thousand dollars, I presume; some say two hundred thousand
dollars; but that's the way some folks have of agitatin' things."
"Is he married?" asked Maggie, and Mrs. Douglas, mistaking the motive
which prompted the question, answered: "Yes, dear, he is. If he wan't,
I know of no darter-in-law I'd as soon have as you. I don't believe in
finding fault with my son's wife; but there's a proud look in her
face I don't like. This is her picter," and she passed to Maggie the
daguerreotype of Theo.
"I've looked at it before," said Maggie; and the good woman proceeded:
"I hain't seen her yet; but he's going to bring her to Charlton
bime-by. He's a good boy, George is, free as water--gave me this
carpet, the sofy and chair, and has paid Betsy Jane's schoolin' one
winter at Leicester. But Betsy don't take to books much. She's more
like me, her father says. They had a big party for George last night,
but I wan't invited. Shouldn't 'a' gone if I had been; but for all
that a body don't want to be slighted, even if they don't belong to
the quality.
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