en I notices some one bearin' down on us from the other side of
the deck. She was one of these tall, straight, deep chested, wide eyed
girls, built like the Goddess of Liberty, and with cheeks like a bunch
of sweet peas. Say, she was all right, she was; and if it hadn't been
for the Paris clothes she was wearin' home I could have made a guess
whether she come from Denver, or Dallas, or St. Paul. Anyway, we don't
raise many of that kind in New York. She has her eyes on the
youngsters.

"Good-bye, Jack and Jill," says she, wavin' her hand at 'em.

But nobody gets past them kids as easy as that. They yells "Miss
Gertrude!" at her like she was a mile off, and points to Pinckney, and
inside of a minute they has towed 'em together, pushed 'em up against
the rail, and is makin' 'em acquainted at the rate of a mile a minute.

"Pleased, I'm sure," says Miss Gerty. "Jack and Jill are great friends
of mine. I suppose you are their Uncle Pinckney."

"I'm almost beginning to believe I am," says Pinckney.

"Why," says she, "aren't you----"

"Oh, that's my name," says he. "Only I didn't know that I was an
uncle. Doubtless it's all right, though. I'll look it up."

With that she eyes him like she thought he was just out of the nut
factory, and the more Pinckney tries to explain, the worse he gets
twisted. Finally he turns to the twins. "See here, youngsters," says
he, "which one of you is Jack?"

"Me," says one of 'em. "I'se Jack."

"Well, Jack," says Pinckney, "what is your last name?"

"Anstruther," says the kid.

"The devil!" says Pinckney, before he could stop it. Then he begs
pardon all around. "I see," says he. "I had almost forgotten about
Jack Anstruther, though I shouldn't. So Jack is your papa, is he? And
where is Jack now?"

Some one must have trained them to do it, for they gets their heads
together, like they was goin' to sing a hymn, rolls up their eyes, and
pipes out, "Our--papa--is--up--there."

"The deuce you say! I wouldn't have thought it!" gasps Pinckney. "No,
no! I--I mean I hadn't heard of it."

It was a bad break, though; but the girl sees how cut up he is about
it, and smooths everything out with a laugh.

"I fancy Jack and Jill know very little of such things," says she; "but
they can tell you all about Marie."

"Marie's gone!" shouts the kids. "She says we drove her crazy."

That was the way the story come out, steady by jerks. The meat of it
was that one of Pinckney