her. Might as well marry her--hey?"

"Does--does Cousin James have to support Sallie and the children, Uncle
Peter?" I asked, coming with reluctance down to the rock-bed of the
discussion.

"Thinks he does, and it serves him right--serves him right for starting
out to run a widow-ranch in the first place; it's like making a
collection of old shoes. He let Henry Carruthers persuade him to
mortgage everything and buy land on the river for the car-shops of the
new railroad, which just fooled the town out of a hundred thousand
dollars, and is going by on the other side of the river with the shops
up at Bolivar. If James didn't get all the lawing in Alton County they
would all starve to death--which would be hard on the constitution of
old lady Hargrove, and her two hundred-weight."

"Oh, has Cousin James really lost all of his fortune?" I asked, and I
was surprised at the amount of sympathetic dismay that rose in me at the
information.

"Everything but what he carries around under that old gray hat of
his--not so bad a fortune, at that!--hey?"

I feel I am going to love Uncle Peter for the way he disdainfully
admires Cousin James.

"And--and all of his--his guests are really dependent on him?" I asked
again, as the stupendous fact filtered into my mind.

"All the flock, all the flock," answered Uncle Peter, with what seemed,
under the circumstances, a heartless chuckle. "They each one have little
dabs of property, about as big as a handful of chicken feed, and as they
have each one given it all to James to manage, they expect an income in
return--and get it--all they ask for. A lot of useless old live
stock--all but Sallie, and she's worse--worse, hey?"

I agreed with his question--but I didn't say so.

"Glad your money is safe in Public Town Bonds and City Securities,
Evelina. If James could, he might lose it, and you'd have to move over.
It would then be nip and tuck between you and Sallie which got
James--nip and tuck--hey?"

"Oh, Uncle Peter!" I exclaimed with positive horror that was flavored
with a large dash of indignation.

"Well, yes, a race between a widow and a girl for a man is about like
one between a young duck and a spring chicken, across a mill-pond--girl
and chicken lose--hey? But let Sallie have him, since you don't need
him. I've got to go home and listen to Augusta talk about my business,
that she knows nothing in the world about, or I won't be ready for town
meeting this afternoon. Women