ing
you by the same title?"

"You may, indeed," was the smiling rejoinder. "And my son here, I suppose,
will take his place with the others as cousin. No doubt we are all
related, if we could only go back far enough in tracing out our
genealogies."

"To Father Adam, for instance," remarked Mr. Travilla, laughingly.

"Or good old Noah, or even his son Japheth," rejoined Harry, leading the
way to a family carriage sufficiently roomy to hold them all comfortably.

"Your checks, if you please, aunt and cousins; and Simon here will attend
to your luggage. Servants' also."

Elsie turned her head to see a young colored man, bowing, scraping, and
grinning from ear to ear, in whom she perceived a faint resemblance to the
lad Simon of four years ago.

"You hain't forgot me, miss?" he said. "I'm still at de ole place wid Miss
Wealthy."

She gave him a smile and a nod, dropping a gold dollar into his hand along
with her checks; the gentlemen said, "How d'ye do," and were equally
generous, and he went off chuckling.

As they drew near their destination, a quaint little figure could be seen
standing at the gate in the shade of a maple tree, whose leaves of mingled
green and scarlet, just touched by the September frosts, made a brilliant
contrast to the sober hue of her dress.

"There she is! our dear old auntie!" cried Elsie with eager delight, that
brought a flush of pleasure to Harry's face.

Miss Stanhope's greetings were characteristic. "Elsie! my darling! I have
you again after all these years! Mrs. Vanilla too! how kind! but you tell
me your face is always that. Horace, nephew, this _is_ good of you! And
Mr. Torville, I'm as glad as the rest to see you. Come in, come in, all of
you, and make yourselves at home."

"Does Mrs. Schilling still live opposite to you, Aunt Wealthy?" asked
Elsie as they sat about the tea-table an hour later.

"Yes, dearie; though she's lost all commercial value," laughed the old
lady; "she's taken a second wife at last; not Mr. Was though, but a
newcomer, Mr. Smearer."

"Dauber, auntie," corrected Harry, gravely.

"Well, well, child, the meaning's about the same," returned Miss Stanhope,
laughing afresh at her own mistake, "and I'd as soon be the other as one."

"Mrs. Dauber wouldn't though," said Harry. "I noticed her face grow as red
as a beet the other day when you called her Mrs. Smearer."

"She didn't mind being Mrs. Sixpence, I think," said Elsie.

"Oh yes, she did; it nettle