Walter, however, took no part in the conversation.

He had lived longer than his sisters--had seen more of human nature, and had his own suspicions with regard to what would take place during their absence; but he could not spoil all Margaret's happiness by telling her his thoughts, so he kept them to himself, secretly resolving to make the best of whatever might occur, and to advise Mag to do the same.
Now for a time we leave them, and take a look into the cottage of Widow Carter, where, one September morning, about three weeks after the departure of the Hamiltons, preparations were making for some great event.

In the kitchen a servant girl was busily at work, while in the parlor Lenora was talking and the widow was listening.
"Oh, mother," said Lenora, "isn't it so nice that they went away just now?
But won't Mag look daggers at us when she comes home and finds us in quiet possession, and is told to call you _mother_!" "I never expect her to do that," answered Mrs.Carter.

"The most I can hope for is that she will call me Mrs.Hamilton." "Now really, mother, if I were in Mag's place, I wouldn't please you enough to say Mrs.Hamilton; I'd always call you Mrs.Carter," said Lenora.
"How absurd!" was the reply; and Lenora continued: "I know it's absurd, but I'd do it; though if she does, I, as the dutiful child of a most worthy parent, shall feel compelled to resent the insult by calling her father _Mr.Carter_!" By this time Mrs.Carter was needed in the kitchen; so, leaving Lenora, who at once was the pest and torment of her mother's life, we will go into the village and see what effect the approaching nuptials was producing.

It was now generally known that the "lady from the East" who had been "rocked in Mrs.Carter's cradle," was none other than Mrs.Carter herself, and many were the reproving looks which the people had cast toward Lenora for the trick she had put upon them.