Uncle Hosea."

Once more she turned to go, and again she turned.

"Is there anything else you wish me to do, Uncle Hosea?" she asked.

The repetition repeated was too much.

"Yes," I declared. "Stop calling me Uncle Hosea. I'm not your uncle."

"Oh, I know that; but you have told everyone that you were, haven't
you?"

I had, unfortunately, so I could make no better reply than to state
emphatically that I didn't like the title.

"Oh, very well," she said. "But 'Mr. Knowles' sounds so formal, don't
you think. What shall I call you? Never mind, perhaps I can think while
I am dressing for dinner. I will see you at dinner, won't I. Au revoir,
and thank you again for the racket--Cousin Hosy."

"I'm not your cousin, either--at least not more than a nineteenth
cousin. And if you begin calling me 'Hosy' I shall--I don't know what I
shall do."

"Dear me, how particular you are! Well then, au revoir--Kent."

When Hephzy came to the study I was still seated in the rector's chair.
She was brimful full of curiosity, I know, and ready to ask a dozen
questions at once. But I headed off the first of the dozen.

"Hephzy," I observed, "I have made no less than fifty solemn resolutions
since we met that girl--that Little Frank of yours. You've heard me make
them, haven't you."

"Why, yes, I suppose I have. If you mean resolutions to tell her the
truth about her father and put an end to the scrape we're in, I have,
certain."

"Yes; well, I've made another one now. Never, no matter what happens,
will I attempt to tell her a word concerning Strickland Morley or
her 'inheritance' or anything else. Every time I've tried I've made
a blessed idiot of myself and now I'm through. She can stay with us
forever and run us into debt to her heart's desire--I don't care. If
she ever learns the truth she sha'n't learn it from me. I'm incapable
of telling it. I haven't the sand of a yellow dog and I'm not going to
worry about it. I'm through, do you hear--through."

That was my newest resolution. It was a comfort to realize that THIS
resolution I should probably stick to.

CHAPTER XI

In Which Complications Become More Complicated

And stick to it I did. From that day--the day of our drive to
Wrayton--on through those wonderful summer days in which she and
Hephzy and I were together at the rectory, not once did I attempt to
remonstrate with my "niece" concerning her presumption in inflicting her
presence upon us or in spending