Malcolm Everett

It would be tiresome both to ourselves and our readers, were we to
enumerate the many mortifications which both Mr. and Mrs. Livingstone
were compelled to endure from their mother, who gradually came to
understand her true position in the family. One by one her ideas of
teaching them economy were given up, as was also all hopes of ever
being at all familiar with her daughter, whom, at her son's request,
she had ceased to call "'Tilda."

"Mebby you want me to say Miss Livingstone," said she, "but I shan't.
I'll call her Miss Nichols, or Matilda, just which she chooses."

Of course Mrs. Livingstone chose the latter, wincing, though, every
time she heard it. Dreading a scene which he knew was sure to follow
a disclosure of his engagement with Miss Nancy, Mr. Livingstone had
requested his mother to keep it from his wife, and she, appreciating
his motive, promised secrecy, lamenting the while the ill-fortune
which had prevented Nancy from being her daughter-in-law, and
dwelling frequently upon the comfort she should take were Nancy there
in Matilda's place. On the whole, however, she was tolerably
contented; the novelty of Kentucky life pleased her, and at last,
like most northern people, she fell in with the habits of those
around her. Still her Massachusetts friends were not forgotten, and
many a letter, wonderful for its composition and orthography, found
its way to Nancy Scovandyke, who wrote in return that "some time or
other she should surely visit Kentucky," asking further if the "big
bugs" didn't prefer eastern teachers for their children, and hinting
at her desire to engage in that capacity when she came south!