son he won't
study, and he won't work, and I'm sure I don't know whatever will
become of him, when Miss Jane dies."

"Thank you," said Beth, much relieved, and the girls walked away with
lighter hearts.

"There's no danger in that quarter, after all," said Louise, gaily.
"The boy is a mere hanger-on. You see, Aunt Jane's old sweetheart,
Thomas Bradley, left everything to her when he died, and she can do as
she likes with it."

After luncheon, which they ate alone and unattended save by the maid
Susan, who was old Misery's daughter, the girls walked away to
the rose arbor, where Beth declared they could read or sew quite
undisturbed.

But sitting upon the bench they found a little old man, his legs
extended, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, and a look of calm
meditation upon his round and placid face. Between his teeth was a
black brier pipe, which he puffed lazily.

Beth was for drawing back, but Louise took her arm and drew her
forward.

"Isn't this Uncle John?" she asked.

The little man turned his eyes upon them, withdrew his hands from his
pockets and his pipe from his mouth, and then bowed profoundly.

"If you are my nieces, then I am Uncle John," he said, affably. "Sit
down, my dears, and let us get acquainted."

Louise smiled, and her rapid survey took in the man's crumpled and
somewhat soiled shirt-front, the frayed black necktie that seemed to
have done years of faithful service, and the thick and dusty cow-hide
boots. His clothing was old and much worn, and the thought crossed
her mind that Oscar the groom was far neater in appearance than this
newly-found relative.

Beth merely noticed that Uncle John was neither dignified nor imposing
in appearance. She sat down beside him--leaving a wide space between
them--with a feeling of disappointment that he was "like all the rest
of the Merricks."

"You have just arrived, we hear," remarked Louise.

"Yes. Walked up from the station this forenoon," said Uncle John.
"Come to see Jane, you know, but hadn't any idea I'd find two nieces.
Hadn't any idea I possessed two nieces, to be honest about it."

"I believe you have three," said Louise, in an, amused tone.

"Three? Who's the other?"

"Why, Patricia Doyle."

"Doyle? Doyle? Don't remember the name."

"I believe your sister Violet married a man named Doyle."

"So she did. Captain Doyle--or Major Doyle--or some such fellow. But
what is your name?"

"I am Louise Merrick, your brother Will