“Theer's summat serious at the bottom on it, but the joke's atop, plain for annybody to see,” said Fuller. “But Miss Bly the's come here this mornin' of a funny sort of a arrant, to my thinking, though her seems to fancy it's as solemn a business as a burying.” “What is the matter?” asked Ruth, looking from one to the other. Some movement of Rachel's eyes sent hers to the table, and she recognized her own letter in a flash. She moved instinctively and laid her hand upon it. “That's it,” said her father, with a new gurgle. “'Twas your Aunt Rachel, my dear,” he explained, “as see you put it somewheer last night, an' took care on it for you.” Ruth turned upon the little old lady with a grand gesture, in which both hands were suddenly drawn down and backward until they were clinched together, crushing the letter between them behind her. “Her comes to me this morning,” pursued Fuller, while the old woman and the young one looked at each other, “an' tells me plump an' plain as her wants t' open this letter and read it, along with me.” “Aunt Rachel!” said Ruth, with a sort of intense quiet, “how dare you?” “I did nothing but my duty,” said Rachel. “If I have exposed to you the character of these men in vain--” “Exposed! Exposed!” cried Fuller. “What's this here maggot about exposin'? Who talks about exposin' a lad like that? The best lad i' the country-side without a 'ception!” “You tell me then,” said Rachel, turning upon him slowly, as if Ruth's eyes had an attraction for her, and she could scarcely leave them--“you tell me then that this Reuben Gold has your approval in making approaches to your daughter?” “Approval!” shouted Fuller. “Yis. I've seen 'em gettin' fond on each other this five 'ear, and took a pleasure in it. What's agen the lad? Nothin' but the mumblin' of a bumble-bee as an old maid's got in her bonnet. A spite agen his uncle is a thing as _is_ understandable.” “Indeed, sir,” said Aunt Rachel, with frigid politeness. “Will you tell me why?” “Well, no,” said Fuller. “I'd rather I didn't. Look here. Let's have harmony. I'm no hand at quarrelin', even among the men, let alone among the petticuts. Let's have harmony. The wench has got her letter back, and theer's no harm done. And if theer is, ye'd better fight it out betwigst ye.” With this he turned his back and waddled a pace or two. Then he turned a laughing face upon them, moving slowly on his axis. “Mek it up,” he said, “mek it up. Let's have no ill blood i' the family. Nothin' like harmony.” Having thus delivered himself he rolled in-doors, and there sat down to his morning pipe. But anger and laughter are alike provocative of thirst, and seeking a jug in the kitchen he took his way to the cellar, and there had a copious draught of small beer, after which he settled himself down in his arm-chair, prepared to make the best of anything which might befall him.