dear?"

"He was very old, and he wore glasses, and his hair was white. He most
times made mother cry, so I--I used to be sorry when he came."

"Can you recall his name?"

"Mother used to call him Uncle Stephen; but he was not her relation--he
was father's. I think he always scolded mother; she used to look
dreadfully bad after he was gone. I don't want to see _him_ again."

"But he may have had a kind heart."

"Oh, I don't know," said Ronald. "I don't want to see him again."

"Do you think, by chance, that his name was Harvey?"

"I don't know. I think he in a sort of way belonged to father."

"Then," said Mrs. Anderson, "I guess that his name was Harvey. Now, I
won't question you any more, Ronald. You may sit up and play with your
bricks."

Ronald played happily enough, and Mrs. Anderson, after thinking for a
few minutes, wrote out an advertisement. The advertisement ran as
follows:

"If a gentleman who was called Uncle Stephen by a little boy, son of the
late Major Harvey, who was supposed to have been killed in action at
Ladysmith on ----, would wish to know anything of the same boy, he can
get full particulars from Mrs. Anderson, 12 Carlyle Terrace,
Westminster."

This advertisement was put into the _Times_, the _Standard_, the
_Telegraph_, and in fact, into all the daily newspapers. It appeared
once, and Mrs. Anderson sat--as she expressed it--with her heart in her
mouth for a whole day. But nothing happened: nobody came to inquire;
there was no letter on the subject of the little son of brave Major
Harvey. On the second day of the advertisement Mrs. Anderson felt a
great relief in her heart.

"After I have advertised for a whole week," she said to herself, "I
shall, I think, have done my duty, and perhaps I shall be allowed to
keep the dear child."

She had looked, and felt, very sad on the first day of the
advertisement, but on the second day she was more cheerful, and
suggested to Ronald that Connie should come and have tea with him.

Ronald was delighted, and clapped his hands in glee. Mrs. Anderson wrote
a little note to Connie, slightly blaming her for not coming to see her,
but begging her to call that afternoon and have tea with Ronald. Connie
was greatly delighted when she got the letter.

"May I go, Giles? Do yer mind?" she asked.

"In course not," answered Giles. "Why should I mind? Yer'll dress
yerself in yer wery best, Connie, and I'll like well to look at yer
afore yer goes out, a