eps his entire pharmacopoeia on a table at the head
of his bed, with a candle and matches, so that if he feels badly in the
night, the proper remedy is instantly at hand. He prepares some of his
medicines himself, but he isn't bigoted about it. He buys the rest at
wholesale, and I'll eat my hat if he hasn't got a full-sized bottle of
every patent medicine that's on sale anywhere in the United States."

"How old," asked Harlan, speaking for the first time, "is Uncle Israel?"

"Something over ninety, I believe," returned Dick. "I've lost my book of
vital statistics, so I don't know, exactly."

"How long," inquired Dorothy, with a forced smile, "does Uncle Israel
stay?"

"Lord bless you, my dear lady, Uncle Israel stays all Summer. Hello--there
are some more!"

A private conveyance of uncertain age and purposes drew up before the
door. From it dismounted a very slender young man of medium height, whose
long auburn hair hung over his coat-collar and at times partially obscured
his soulful grey eyes. It resembled the mane of a lion, except in colour.
He carried a small black valise, and a roll of manuscript tied with a
badly soiled ribbon.

An old lady followed, stepping cautiously, but still finding opportunity
to scrutinise the group in the doorway, peering sharply over her
gold-bowed spectacles. It was she who paid the driver, and even before the
two reached the house, it was evident that they were not on speaking
terms.

The young man offered Mr. Chester a thin, tremulous hand which lay on
Dick's broad palm in a nerveless, clammy fashion. "Pray," he said, in a
high, squeaky voice, "convey my greetings to dear Uncle Ebeneezer, and
inform him that I have arrived."

"I am at present holding no communication with Uncle Ebeneezer," explained
Dick. "The wires are down."

"Where is Ebeneezer?" demanded the old lady.

"Dead," answered Dorothy, wearily; "dead, dead. He's been dead a long
time. This is our house--he left it to my husband and me."

"Don't let that disturb you a mite," said the old lady, cheerfully. "I
like your looks a whole lot, an' I'd just as soon stay with you as with
Ebeneezer. I dunno but I'd ruther."

She must have been well past sixty, but her scanty hair was as yet
untouched with grey. She wore it parted in the middle, after an ancient
fashion, and twisted at the back into a tight little knob, from which the
ends of a wire hairpin protruded threateningly. Dorothy reflected,
unhappily, that t