hen your father was a boy--more in the light
of a father to him, than an older brother. He was much opposed to your
father's going into the ministry, he wanted him to go into business
with him. He is a strong-willed man, and does not easily relinquish
any plan of his own making. It went hard with him, when your father
refused to yield; later, when your father received the call to this
parish, your uncle quite as strongly opposed his accepting it--burying
himself alive in a little out-of-the-way hole, he called it. It came
to the point, finally, on your uncle's insisting on his making it a
choice between himself and Winton. He refused to ever come near the
place and the two or three letters your father wrote at first remained
unanswered. The breach between them has been one of the hardest trials
your father has had to bear."

"Oh," Pauline cried miserably, "what a horrid interfering thing father
must think me! Rushing in where I had no right to! I wish I'd
known--I just thought--you see, father speaks of Uncle Paul now and
then--that maybe they'd only--grown apart--and that if Uncle Paul knew!
But perhaps my letter will get lost. It would serve me right; and yet,
if it does, I'm afraid I can't help feeling somewhat disappointed--on
Hilary's account."

Her mother smiled. "We can only wait and see. I would rather you said
nothing of what I have been telling you to either Hilary or Patience,
Pauline."

"I won't, Mother Shaw. It seems I have a lot of secrets from Hilary.
And I won't write any more such letters without consulting you or
father, you can depend on that."

Mr. Paul Shaw's answer did not come within the allotted week. It was
the longest week Pauline had ever known; and when the second went by
and still no word from her uncle, the waiting and uncertainty became
very hard to bear, all the harder, that her usual confidant, Hilary,
must not be allowed to suspect anything.

The weather had turned suddenly warm, and Hilary's listlessness had
increased proportionately, which probably accounted for the dying out
of what little interest she had felt at first in Patience's "mysterious
letter."

Patience, herself, was doing her best to play fair; fortunately, she
was in school the greater part of the day, else the strain upon her
powers of self-control might have proved too heavy.

"Mother," Pauline said one evening, lingering in her mother's room,
after Hilary had gone to bed, "I don't believe Uncle P