She had a dignity about her in dealing with a visitor that was not often apparent in other circumstances.

She added, "We have too lately been strangers ourselves to wish to turn any one weary from our door." Then, in whispered aside, "Dry your dishes, girls." The dignity of bearing with which she spoke to him altered as she threw her head backward to give this last command.
"I thank you from my heart, madam." The young man bowed--that is, he made an angle of himself for a moment.

He moved the chair to which she had motioned him, but did not sit down.

"It is impossible for me to sit," said he, fervently, "while a lady stands." The quaintness and novelty in his accent made them unable to test his manners by any known standard.

For all they knew, the most cultured inhabitant of Boston, New York, or Washington might have behaved precisely in this way.
"Sit down, mamma," whispered Blue and Red, with praiseworthy consideration for their mother's fatigue; "we'll finish the dishes." The girls perceived what, perhaps, the stranger had already perceived, that if their mother consented to sit there was a chance of a more equal conversation.