Each after her
kind, Mrs. Bertram murmured. But as she had an object in view it was
necessary for her to earn the good-will of the well-to-do widow.
Accordingly, when the slender meal came to an end, and the two ladies
found themselves under the shelter of the friendly oak-tree, matters
went more smoothly. Mrs. Bertram put her guest into an excellent humor
by bestowing some cordial praise upon Beatrice.
"She is not like you," continued the good lady, with some naivete.
"No, no," responded the gratified mother. "And sorry I'd be to think
that Beatrice took after me. I'm commonplace. Mrs. Bertram. I have no
figure to boast of, nor much of a face either. What _he_ saw to
like in me, poor man, has puzzled my brain a score and score of times.
Kind and affectionate he ever was, but he couldn't but own, as own I did
for him, that I was a cut below him. Beatrice features her father, Mrs.
Bertram, both in mind and body."
Mrs. Bertram murmured some compliment about the mother's kind heart, and
then turned to a subject which is known to be of infallible interest to
all ladies. She spoke of her ailments.
Mrs. Meadowsweet beamed all over when this subject came on the
_tapis_. She even laid her fat hand on Mrs. Bertram's lap.
"Now, _did_ you ever try Eleazer Macjone's Pills of Life?" she
asked.
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