jubilees over the beautiful fulfilment of her prophecies; for even Aunt Plenty owned now with contrition that "the boy was not a fool." Every word of praise was read aloud on the house-tops, so to speak, by happy Rose; every adverse criticism was hotly disputed; and the whole family were in a great state of pleasant excitement over this unexpectedly successful first flight of the Ugly Duckling, now generally considered by his relatives as the most promising young swan of the flock.
Aunt Jane was particularly funny in her new position of mother to a callow poet, and conducted herself like a proud but bewildered hen when one of her brood takes to the water. She pored over the poems trying to appreciate them, but quite failing to do so; for life was all prose to her, and she vainly tried to discover where Mac got his talent from. It was pretty to see the new respect with which she treated his possessions now; the old books were dusted with a sort of reverence; scraps of paper laid carefully by lest some immortal verse be lost; and a certain shabby velvet jacket fondly smoothed, when no one was by to smile at the maternal pride which filled her heart, and caused her once severe countenance to shine with unwonted benignity.
Uncle Mac talked about "my son" with ill-concealed satisfaction, and evidently began to feel as if his boy was going to confer distinction upon the whole race of Campbell, which had already possessed one poet.
