Miss Betsey's Namesake

(Disclaimer: Not my characters.)

Miss Betsey Trotwood sat by the fire in the shadowy parlor, looking very much as she had looked when she had sat in another parlor, many years before. Her figure was as upright and portentous as it had been then, and her gaze at the fire as unwavering.

If any observer had happened to be present with her on both occasions, though, that observer might have noticed a little less grimness about Miss Betsey's mouth, and rather more softness in the eyes that watched the fire. And if that observer had been privileged to hear her thoughts, he might have discovered there a lingering feeling of regret for old harshness, and a firm determination to be pleased with whatever the outcome of tonight's event might be. On this night, the coming addition to the family, whether boy or girl, was most certainly assured of a gracious welcome from Miss Betsey.

There was no jeweller's cotton in her ears tonight, as though the passage of time had brought new courage along with new gentleness; but our careful observer might have seen that she held a wad of that article ready in her hand, and any slight sound made that hand twitch compulsively.

A sudden sound of footsteps running down the stairs brought the hand up with a jerk, almost to her ear, but she checked it at the last moment and sat still, looking intently at the door. In a moment it flew open, and an excited young man, with his face aglow, rushed in.

"Aunt! The child is a girl!"

Miss Betsey rose precipitately from her chair, but uttered no word and gave no other sign of having heard. As she stood staring at him, the young man caught hold of her hands, with a joyous laugh.

"Do you hear, Aunt? You have your namesake at last! —For Agnes agrees that we must name her after you."

For the first time in all her life, Miss Betsey Trotwood burst into tears.