Patty had
looked at her admiringly, and with a certain feeling of
proprietorship, for several Sundays. There was obviously no such
desirable mother-in-law in the meeting-house. Her changeable silk
dress was the latest mode; her shawl of black llama lace
expressed wealth in every delicate mesh, and her bonnet had a
distinction that could only have emanated from Portland or
Boston. Ellen Wilson usually came in next, with as much of a
smile to Patty in passing as she dared venture in the Deacon's
presence, and after her sidled in her younger sister Selina,
commonly called "Silly," and with considerable reason.
Mark had come home! Patty dared not look up, but she felt his
approach behind the others, although her eyes sought the floor,
and her cheeks hung out signals of abashed but certain welcome.
She heard the family settle in their seats somewhat hastily, the
click of the pew door and the sound of Lawyer Wilson's cane as he
stood it in the corner; then the parson rose to pray and Patty
closed her eyes with the rest of the congregation.
Opening them when Elder Boone rose to announce the hymn, they
fell--amazed, resentful, uncomprehending--on the spectacle of
Mark Wilson finding the place in the book for a strange young
woman who sat beside him.
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