Looking down the road, Mrs. Banks espied the form of her brother John walking
in her direction and leading Jack by the hand.
This was a most unusual sight, for John's calls had been uncommonly few of
late years, since a man rarely visits a lady relative for the mere purpose of
hearing "a piece of her mind." This piece, large, solid, highly flavored with
pepper, and as acid as mental vinegar could make it, was Louisa Banks's only
contribution to conversation when she met her brother. She could not stop for
any airy persiflage about weather, crops, or politics when her one desire was
to tell him what she thought of him.
"Good-morning, Louisa. Shake hands with your aunt, Jack."
"He can't till I'm through sweeping. Good-morning, John; what brings you
here?"
John sat down on the steps, and Jack flew to the barn, where there was
generally an amiable hired man and a cheerful cow, both infinitely better
company than his highly respected and wealthy aunt.
"I came because I had to bring the boy to the only relation I've got in the
world," John answered tersely. "My wife's left me."
"Well, she's been a great while doing it," remarked Louisa, digging her broom
into the cracks of the piazza floor and making no pause for reflection.
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