n to you about him," he continued gravely. "He was my
older brother--a year older--and as boys we were very fond of each
other. But one day we had to part because our paths went in opposite
directions. He chose the broad and easy way, and I was led into the
straight and narrow path. How can two walk together except they be
agreed? For ten years I tried to win him back, but without success. At
last he told me that he wished me never to address him on the subject
of religion again, for he would rather lose both his hands and his
feet than believe as I did. He went on with his reckless life,
prospering in this world, as I hear, but I have never seen him since
that time."

"But wouldn't you like to see him?" said Esther, dropping her eyes.
"He must be quite a wonderful man. Doesn't he write to you?"

Her father's lip twitched, but he still spoke sadly and gravely.

"I see you have guessed the answer already. Yes, a letter came from
him some time ago, proposing a visit, which I discouraged. Another
came this week, saying that he was on his way, driving his own horses
across the country, and though he had received no reply from me, he
hoped to get here late Saturday--that is, to-night--or Sunday morning.
Of course we must welcome my own brother--if he comes."

"Why, he may get here any minute," cried Daniel eagerly; "he's sure to
change his wagon for a sleigh in Pittsburgh, and he won't have to
drive 'way round by the long bridge, he can cross the river on the
ice. I wonder if he's driving that famous long-distance team that
Slocum told me about. Oh, that'll be simply great."

"I must go upstairs right away," exclaimed Esther, with brightening
face, "to see that the guest room is ready for him when he comes."

"I'll go to help" cried Ruth, clapping her hands. "What fun to have a
real uncle here. I guess he'll bring a present for each of us."

"Wait, my children," said the father, lifting his hand, "before you go
I have something more to say to you. Your uncle is a man of the world,
and you know the world is evil; we have been called to come out of it.
He does not think as we do, nor believe as we do, nor live as we do,
according to the Word. For one thing, he cares nothing for the
sanctity of the Sabbath. Unless he has changed very much, he is not
temperate nor reverent. I fear the effect of his example in Glendour.
I fear his influence upon you, my children. It is my duty to warn you,
to put you on your guard. It will