Mrs. Ochiltree was quietly enjoying herself. In early life she had been
accustomed to impale fools on epigrams, like flies on pins, to see them
wriggle. But with advancing years she had lost in some measure the
faculty of nice discrimination,--it was pleasant to see her victims
squirm, whether they were fools or friends. Even one's friends, she
argued, were not always wise, and were sometimes the better for being
told the truth. At her niece's table she felt at liberty to speak her
mind, which she invariably did, with a frankness that sometimes bordered
on brutality. She had long ago outgrown the period where ambition or
passion, or its partners, envy and hatred, were springs of action in her
life, and simply retained a mild enjoyment in the exercise of an old
habit, with no active malice whatever. The ruling passion merely grew
stronger as the restraining faculties decreased in vigor.
A diversion was created at this point by the appearance of old Mammy
Jane, dressed in a calico frock, with clean white neckerchief and apron,
carrying the wonderful baby in honor of whose naming this feast had been
given. Though only six weeks old, the little Theodore had grown rapidly,
and Mammy Jane declared was already quite large for his age, and
displayed signs of an unusually precocious intelligence. He was passed
around the table and duly admired. Clara thought his hair was fine.
Ellis inquired about his teeth. Tom put his finger in the baby's fist to
test his grip.
Pages:
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35