ing on that day, and prepare Surprises
spoken of. Shall be very quiet in my grave with no Relations at hand, but
should like to hear and see effect of Surprise. Jeremiah will attend."

The last lines were written on April sixth. "To-morrow I shall join my
loved Rebecca and leave all Relations here to fight by themselves. Do not
fear Death, but shudder at Relations. Relations keep life from being
pleasant. Did not know my Rebecca was possessed of such numbers nor of
such kinds, but forgive her all. Shall see her to-morrow."

Then, on the line below, in a hand that did not falter, was written: "The
End."

Dorothy wiped her eyes on a corner of Elaine's apron, for Uncle Ebeneezer
had been found dead in his bed on the morning of April seventh. "Elaine,"
she said, "what would you do?"

"Do?" repeated Elaine. "I'd strike one blow for poor old Uncle Ebeneezer!
I'd order every single one of them out of the house to-morrow!"

"To-night!" cried Dorothy, fired with high resolve. "I'll do it this very
night! Poor old Uncle Ebeneezer! Our sufferings have been nothing,
compared to his."

"Are you going to tell Mr. Carr?" asked Elaine, wonderingly.

"Tell him nothing," rejoined Dorothy, with spirit. "He's got some old fogy
notions about your house being a sacred spot where everybody in creation
can impose on you if they want to, just because it is your house. I
suppose he got it by being related to poor old uncle."

"Do I have to go, too?" queried Elaine, rubbing her soft cheek against
Dorothy's.

"Not much," answered Mrs. Carr, with a sisterly embrace. "You'll stay, and
Dick 'll stay, and that old tombstone in the kitchen will stay, and so
will Claudius Tiberius, but the rest--MOVE!"

Consequently, Elaine looked forward to the dinner-hour with mixed
anticipations. Mr. Perkins, Uncle Israel, Mrs. Dodd, and Mrs. Holmes each
found a note under their plates when they sat down. Uncle Israel's face
relaxed into an expression of childlike joy when he found the envelope
addressed to him. "Valentine, I reckon," he said, "or mebbe it's sunthin'
from Santa Claus."

"Queer acting for Santa Claus," snorted Mrs. Holmes, who had swiftly torn
open her note. "Here we are, all ordered away from what's been our home
for years, by some upstart relations who never saw poor, dear uncle. Are
you going to keep boarders?" she asked, insolently, turning to Dorothy.

"No longer," returned that young woman, imperturbably. "I have done it
just as lo