othing for the likes of you," and was about to close the
door on the two.

"Stop!" said Harry, in a commanding voice, for he was provoked with the
girl's ill manners. "Tell Mrs. Ross that her uncle is here. I think
you'd better invite him in."

"Well, I never!" said the girl, abashed. "I hope you'll excuse me, sir.
Walk into the parlor, and I'll tell Mrs. Ross you are here."

"Won't you come in, Harry?" asked the old man, who seemed to have taken
a liking to his young guide.

"No, thank you, sir. I shall see you again, if you are going to stay in
the village."

"Thank you! you're a good boy," and the old man began to fumble in his
pocket.

"Oh, no. I can't take anything," said Harry hurriedly.

Even if the old man had been rich, he would have declined
compensation--much more when he looked very poor.

"Well, well! I'm much obliged to you, all the same."

Leaving Harry to find his way home, let us see what sort of reception
the old man had from his niece.

Within five minutes Mrs. Ross sailed into the room.

"Why, Lucinda!" said the old man, heartily; "it's a long time since I
met you."

"I do not remember ever having seen you," said Mrs. Ross, frigidly.

"I haven't seen you since you were a little girl, for I've been living
away out in Illinoy. I'm your Uncle Obed--Obed Wilkins--brother of your
mother."

"Indeed!" said Mrs. Ross, coldly, eyeing the old man's shabby attire
with something like disdain. "You must be an old man!"

"Seventy-two, Lucinda. I was born in October, while your mother was two
years younger than I, and born in August. I didn't think to outlive her,
seeing she was younger, but I have."

"I think it was imprudent in a man of your age coming so far," said Mrs.
Ross.

"I was all alone, Lucinda. My daughter died last spring, and I wanted to
be near some one that was akin to me, so I've come to see the only
relations I've got left on earth."

"That's very cool," thought Mrs. Ross. "He expects us to support him, I
suppose. He looks as poor as poverty. He ought to have gone to the
poorhouse in his old home."

To be sure, she would not like to have had it known that she had an
uncle in the poorhouse; but, so far away as Illinois, it would not have
been known to any of her Eastern friends, and wouldn't matter so much.

"I will speak to Colonel Ross about it, Mr. Wilkins," she said, coldly.
"You can stay to supper, and see him then."

"Don't call me Mr. Wilkins. I'm your Uncle Obed,