ddenly upon the tall walnut
tree, on whose shaggy bark his name was carved, together with that of
another--a maiden--he started as if smitten with a heavy blow, and
dashing a tear from his eye he exclaimed "Oh that I were a boy again!"

From her seat on the mossy rock 'Lena had been watching him. She was
very ardent and impulsive, strong in her likes and dislikes, but
quite ready to change the latter if she saw any indications of
improvement in the person disliked. For her uncle she had conceived
a great aversion, and when she saw him approaching, thrusting aside
the thistles and dandelions with his gold-headed cane, she mimicked
his motions, wondering "if he didn't feel big because he wore a large
gold chain dangling from his jacket pocket."

But when she saw his emotions beneath the walnut tree, her opinion
suddenly changed. "A very bad man wouldn't cry," she thought, and
springing to his side, she grasped his hand, exclaiming, "I know you
are my Uncle John, and I'm real glad you've come. Granny thought you
never would, and grandpa asks for you all the time."

Had his buried sister arisen before him, Mr. Livingstone would hardly
have been more startled, for in form and feature 'Lena was exactly
what her mother had been at her age. The same clear complexion,
large brown eyes, and wavy hair; and the tones of her voice, too, how
they thrilled the heart of the strong man, making him a boy again,
guiding the steps of his baby sister, or bearing her gently in his
arms when the path was steep and stony. It was but a moment,
however, and then the vision faded. His sister was dead, and the
little girl before him was her child--the child of shame he believed,
or rather, his wife had said it so often that he began to believe it.
Glancing at the old-womanish garb in which Mrs. Nichols always
arrayed her, a smile of mingled scorn and pity curled his lips, as he
thought of presenting her to his fastidious wife and elegant
daughters; then withdrawing the hand which she had taken, he said,
"And you are 'Lena--'Lena Nichols they call you, I suppose."

'Lena's old dislike began to return, and placing both hands upon her
hips in imitation of her grandmother she replied, "No 'tain't 'Lena
Nichols, neither. It's 'Lena Rivers. Granny says so, and the town
clark has got it so on his book. How are my cousins? Are they
pretty well? And how is _Ant_?"

Mr. Livingstone winced, at the same time feeling amused at this
little spe