"Was he your father, Madam?
"Yes, dear; my honored father. I did up his frills to the day of his
death; and the first money I ever earned was five dollars which he
offered as a prize to whichever of his six girls would lay the
handsomest darn in his silk stockings."
"How proud you must have been!" cried Polly, leaning on the old
lady's knee with an interested face.
"Yes, and we all learned to make bread, and cook, and wore little
chintz gowns, and were as gay and hearty as kittens. All lived to be
grandmothers and fathers; and I 'm the last, seventy, next birthday,
my dear, and not worn out yet; though daughter Shaw is an invalid
at forty."
"That 's the way I was brought up, and that 's why Fan calls me
old-fashioned, I suppose. Tell more about your papa, please; I like
it," said Polly.
"Say 'father.' We never called him papa; and if one of my brothers
had addressed him as 'governor,' as boys do now, I really think he
'd have him cut off with a shilling."
Madam raised her voice in saying this, and nodded significantly;
but a mild snore from the other room seemed to assure her that it
was a waste of shot to fire in that direction.
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