ard the voice of Mrs. Horace Dunkelberg and that of
another woman quite as strange to my ear--a high-pitched voice of
melting amiability. It was the company voice of my Aunt Deel. I had
observed just a faint suggestion of it when the neighbors came, or when
meeting was over, but I had never before heard the full-fledged
angelicity of her company voice. It astonished me and I began to regard
her as a very promising old lady. Uncle Peabody, himself, had undergone
a change in the presence of the Dunkelbergs. He held his neck straighter
and smiled more and spoke with greater deliberation.

Mr. Dunkelberg was a big, broad-shouldered, solemn-looking man. Somehow
his face reminded me of a lion's which I had seen in one of my
picture-books. He had a thick, long, outstanding mustache and side
whiskers, and deep-set eyes and heavy eyebrows. He stood for half a
moment looking down at me from a great height with his right hand in his
pocket. I heard a little jingle of coins down where his hand was. It
excited my curiosity. He took a step toward me and I retreated. I
feared, a little, this big, lion-like man. My fears left me suddenly
when he spoke in a small squeaky voice that reminded me of the chirping
of a bird.

"Little boy, come here and I will make you a present," said he.

It reminded me of my disappointment when uncle tried to shoot his gun at
a squirrel and only the cap cracked.

I went to him and he laid a silver piece in the palm of my hand. Aunt
Deel began to hurry about getting dinner ready while Uncle Peabody and I
sat down on the porch with our guests, among whom was a pretty blue-eyed
girl of about my own age, with long, golden-brown hair that hung in
curls.

"Sally, this is Barton Baynes--can't you shake hands with him?" said
Mrs. Dunkelberg.

With a smile the girl came and offered me her hand and made a funny bow
and said that she was glad to see me. I took her hand awkwardly and made
no reply. I had never seen many girls and had no very high opinion of
them.

My attentive ears and eyes began to gather facts in the history of the
Dunkelbergs. Mr. Dunkelberg had throat trouble, and bought butter and
cheese and sent it to Boston, and had busted his voice singing tenor,
and was very rich. I knew that he was rich because he had a gold watch
and chain, and clothes as soft and clean as the butternut trousers, and
a silver ring on his finger, and such a big round stomach. That stomach
was the most convincing fea