I regard the late forties as middle-aged. But Tish, of course, is fifty. Charlie Sands, who is on a newspaper, calls us either the "M. A. T." or the "B. A.'s," for "Beloved Aunts," although Aggie and I are not related to him.
Bettina's mother's note:--
Not that she will allow you to do it, or because she isn't entirely able to take care of herself; but because the people here are a talky lot. Bettina will probably look after you. She has come from college with a feeling that I am old and decrepit and must be cared for. She maddens me with pillows and cups of tea and woolen shawls. She thinks Morris Valley selfish and idle, and is disappointed in the church, preferring her Presbyterianism pure. She is desirous now of learning how to cook. If you decide to come I'll be grateful if you can keep her out of the kitchen.
Devotedly, ELIZA.
P. S. If you can keep Bettina from getting married while I'm away I'll be very glad. She believes a woman should marry and rear a large family!
E.
We were sitting on the porch of the cottage at Lake Penzance when I received the letter, and I read it aloud.
"Humph!" said Tish, putting down the stocking she was knitting and looking over her spectacles at me -- "Likes her Presbyterianism pure and believes in a large family! How old is she? Forty?"
"Eighteen or twenty," I replied, looking at the letter. "I'm not anxious to go. She'll probably find me frivolous."
Tish put on her spectacles and took the letter.
"I think it's your duty, Lizzie," she said when
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