last quarter had gone to the colored boy with
the whisk-broom.

"Here's a go!" said Sandy, for once a little cast down. "We might walk
it," Oscar whispered, as they moved away from the desk. But to this
Charlie, asserting the authority of an elder brother, steadfastly
objected. He knew his Uncle Oscar better than the younger boys did. He
remembered that he was a very precise and dignified elderly gentleman.
He would be scandalized greatly if his three wandering nephews should
come tramping out to his handsome villa on a Sunday, like three
vagabonds, to borrow money enough to get home to Dixon with. No; that
was not to be thought of. Charlie said he would pawn his watch on
Monday morning; he would walk the streets to keep out of the way of
the much-dreaded hotel clerk; but, as for trudging out to his Uncle
Oscar's on Sunday, he would not do it, nor should either of the others
stir a step. So they went to bed, and slept as comfortably in their
luxurious apartment as if they had never known anything less handsome,
and had money in plenty to pay all demands at sight.

It was a cloudy and chilly November Sunday to which the boys awoke
next day. The air was piercingly raw, and the city looked dust-colored
and cheerless under the cold, gray sky. Breaking their fast (Charlie
keeping one eye on the hotel office), they sallied forth to see the
city. They saw it all over, from one end to the other. They walked and
walked, and then went back to the hotel; and after dinner, walked and
walked again. They hunted up their uncle's store in one of the
deserted business streets of the city; and they gazed at its exterior
with a curious feeling of relief. There was the sign on the
prosperous-looking outside of the building,--"Oscar G. Bryant & Co.,
Agricultural Implements." There, at least, was a gleam of comfort. The
store was a real thing. Their uncle, little though they knew about
him, was a real man.

Then, as the evening twilight gathered, they walked out to the borders
of the suburb where he lived. They did not venture into the avenue
where they had been told his house was, vaguely fearing that he might
meet and recognize them. As they turned their steps towards the hotel,
Oscar said: "It's lucky there are three of us to keep ourselves in
countenance. If that wasn't the case, it would be awfully lonely to
think we were so near home, and yet have gone ashore, hard and fast
aground; right in sight of port, as it were."

The paren