as the door opened and pushed up the green
shade, looking out from under it inquiringly. She peered a moment and
then sprang up, thrusting aside the shade with a quick turn. "I am so
glad you've come." She crossed the room, holding out her hands. There
was something clear and fresh in the motion--like a free creature, out
of doors.

Uncle William stood smiling at her. "How do you know it's me?" he said.

The girl laughed quietly. "There couldn't be two." Her voice had a
running, musical quality, with deep notes in it and a little accent that
caught at the words, tripping them lightly. She had taken his hands with
a swift movement and was holding them, looking at him earnestly. "You
are just as he said," she nodded.

Uncle William returned the look. The upturned face flushed a little,
but it did not fall. He put out his hand and touched it. "Some like a
flower," he said, "as near as I can make out--in the dark." He looked
about the huge, bare room, with its single flame shining on the page.

She moved away and lighted a gas-jet on the wall, and then another. She
faced about, smiling. "Will that do?"

Uncle William nodded. "I like a considabul light," he said.

"Yes." She drew forward a chair. "Sit down."

She folded her hands lightly, still scanning him. Uncle William settled
his frame in the big chair. His glance traveled about the room. The two
gas-jets flared at dark corners. A piano emerged mistily. Music-racks
sketched themselves on the blackness. The girl's face was the only bit
of color. It glowed like a red flower, out of the gloom. Uncle William's
glance came back to it. "I got your letter all right," he said.

"I knew you would come."

"Yes." He was searching absently in his pocket. He drew out the bluish
slip of paper with rough edge. He handed it to her gravely. "I couldn't
take that, my dear, you know."

She put it aside on the table. "I thought you might not have money
enough to come at once, and he needed you."

"Yes, he needed me. He's better."

Her face lightened. The rays of color awoke and played in it. "You have
cured him."

"Well,"--Uncle William was judicious,--"I give him a pill."

She laughed out. "He needed _you_," she said.

"Did he?" Uncle William leaned forward. "I never had anybody need
me--not really need me." His tone confided it to her.

She looked back at him. "I should think every one would."

He looked a little puzzled. "I dunno. But I see, from the way you wrote,
t