ne said. "No one could
whistle or sing it and stay grumpy."

"They'd have to 'put the frown away awhile, and try a little sunny
smile,' wouldn't they?" Patience observed.

Patience had been a model of behavior all the evening. Mother would be
sure to ask if she had been good, when they got home. That was one of
those aggravating questions that only time could relieve her from. No
one ever asked Paul, or Hilary, that--when they'd been anywhere.

As Mr. Dayre had promised, the party broke up early, going off in the
various rigs they had come in. Tom and Josie went in the trap with the
Shaws. "It's been perfectly lovely--all of it," Josie said, looking
back along the road they were leaving. "Every good time we have seems
the best one yet."

"You wait 'til my turn comes," Pauline told her. "I've such a scheme
in my head."

"Am I in it?" Patience begged. She was in front, between Tom, who was
driving, and Hilary, then she leaned forward, they were nearly home,
and the lights of the parsonage showed through the trees. "There's a
light in the parlor--there's company!"

Pauline looked, too. "And one up in our old room, Hilary. Goodness,
it must be a visiting minister! I didn't know father was expecting
anyone."

"I bet you!" Patience jumped excitedly up and down. "I just bet it
isn't any visiting minister--but a visiting--uncle! I feel it in my
bones, as Miranda says."

"Nonsense!" Pauline declared.

"Maybe it isn't nonsense, Paul!" Hilary said.

"I feel it in my bones," Patience repeated. "I just _knew_ Uncle Paul
would come up--a story-book uncle would be sure to."

"Well, here we are," Tom laughed. "You'll know for certain pretty
quick."

CHAPTER X

THE END OF SUMMER

It was Uncle Paul, and perhaps no one
was more surprised at his unexpected coming,
than he himself.

That snap-shot of Hilary's had considerable
to do with it; bringing home to him the
sudden realization of the passing of the years.
For the first time, he had allowed himself to
face the fact that it was some time now since
he had crossed the summit of the hill, and that
under present conditions, his old age promised
to be a lonely, cheerless affair.

He had never had much to do with young
people; but, all at once, it seemed to him that
it might prove worth his while to cultivate
the closer acquaintance of these nieces of his.
Pauline, in particular, struck him as likely to
improve upon a nearer acquaintance. A