riefer excursions
on the river and lake and to eating picnic luncheons with his back
against a tree and on his face an expression conveying his unshaken
conviction that there were ants in his sandwich. It is unlikely that
Joel's presence on these occasions added in any marked degree to the
general hilarity, but Celia's satisfaction was unmistakable. She
always sat beside him with an air of proprietorship, digging her sharp
little elbow into the sparse cushioning of his lean thighs or when
weary, dropping her frowsy head against his shoulder with an engaging
certainty that it was there for that very purpose. Like many another
who has defied capture till after middle life, Joel atoned for past
immunity by the thoroughness of his surrender.

But on this particular August morning, when an all-day expedition had
been planned to Huckleberry Mountain, Joel revolted. Whether he had
really been surfeited with picnics, or only feared that he might grow
to enjoy such puerile forms of entertainment, and so lose some of the
austere dignity which had hitherto distinguished him, it is certain
that he came down to breakfast with his mind made up. Even to Celia's
coaxing he was adamant.

"You mustn't tease Uncle Joel any more," Persis finally admonished the
child. "You don't want him to go if he wouldn't have a good time."
And to her brother she added, "You'd better go to the hotel for your
dinner, Joel."

"Oh, I can pick up something that'll do me for a dinner," Joel replied
with his old keen relish for playing the martyr. And then Celia,
dropping her oatmeal spoon, lurched forward in her chair and imprinted
a milky kiss upon his coat sleeve.

"I'll get Uncle Joel's dinner," Celia murmured. "I'll take care of
him."

"But you're going on the picnic."

"No, Aunt Persis," Celia resumed an upright position with a suddenness
that endangered her half-emptied bowl of porridge. "I don't like
picnics 'thout Uncle Joel. I'd rather stay with him."

Joel groped for the toast. The plate was directly in front of him, but
he could not see it for a blinding rush of tears. Never in his life
had he known such sweet elation, never such humility. There is an
irresistible flattery in the preference of a child. Except for the
love of his dead mother and for his sister's affection, the latter a
curious blending of duty and traditional sentiment which would have
kept on working automatically whatever he might have done, Joel had
never