But most of Bennington soon began to say that Molly s cow-boy could be invited anywhere and hold his own. The time came when they ceased to speak of him as a cow-boy, and declared that she had shown remarkable sense. But this was not quite yet.
Did this bride and groom enjoy their visit to her family? Well--well, they did their best. Everybody did their best, even Sarah Bell. She said that she found nothing to object to in the Virginian; she told Molly so. Her husband Sam did better than that. He told Molly he considered that she was in luck. And poor Mrs. Wood, sitting on the sofa, conversed scrupulously and timidly with her novel son-in-law, and said to Molly that she was astonished to find him so gentle. And he was undoubtedly fine-looking; yes, very handsome. She believed that she would grow to like the Southern accent. Oh, yes! Everybody did their best; and, dear reader, if ever it has been your earthly portion to live with a number of people who were all doing their best, you do not need me to tell you what a heavenly atmosphere this creates.
And then the bride and groom went to see the old great-aunt over at Dunbarton.
Their first arrival, the one at Bennington, had been thus: Sam Bell had met them at the train, and Mrs. Wood, waiting in her parlor, had embraced her daughter and received her son-in-law. Among them they had managed to make the occasion as completely mournful as any family party can be, with the window blinds up. “And with you present, my dear,” said Sam Bell to Sarah, “the absence of a coffin was not felt.”
But at Dunbarton the affair went off differently. The heart of the ancient lady had taught her better things. From Bennington to Dunbarton is the good part of a day’s journey, and they drove up to the gate in the afternoon. The great-aunt was in her garden, picking some August flowers, and she called as the carriage stopped, “Bring my nephew here, my dear, before you go into the house.”
At this, Molly, stepping out of the carriage, squeezed her husband’s hand. “I knew that she would be lovely,” she whispered to him. And then she ran to her aunt’s arms, and let him follow. He came slowly, hat in hand.
The old lady advanced to meet him, trembling a little, and holding out her hand to him. “Welcome, nephew,” she said. “What a tall fellow you are, to be sure. Stand off, sir, and let me look at you.”
The Virginian obeyed, blushing from his black hair to his collar.
Then his new relative turned to her niece, and gave her a flower. “Put this in his coat, my dear,” she said. “And I think I understand why you wanted to marry him.”
After this the maid came and showed them to their rooms. Left alone in her garden, the great-aunt sank on a bench and sat there for some time; for emotion had made her very weak.
Upstairs, Molly, sitting on the Virginian’s knee, put the flower in his coat, and then laid her head upon his shoulder.
“I didn’t know old ladies could be that way,” he said. “D’ yu’ reckon there are many?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said the girl. “I’m so happy!”
Now at tea, and during the evening, the great-aunt carried out her plans still further. At first she did the chief part of the talking herself. Nor did she ask questions about Wyoming too soon. She reached that in her own way, and found out the one thing that she desired to know. It was through General Stark that she led up to it.
“There he is,” she said, showing the family portrait. “And a rough time he must have had of it now and then. New Hampshire was full of fine young men in those days. But nowadays most of them have gone away to seek their fortunes in the West. Do they find them, I wonder?”