Mr. Stagg sometimes actually found a reflection of the cheerful figure of “Hannah’s Car’lyn” coming between him and the big ledger over which he spent so many of his waking hours. Once he looked up from the ledger—it was on a Saturday morning—and really did see the bright figure of the little girl standing before him. It was no dream or fancy, for old Jimmy, the cat, suddenly shot to the topmost shelf, squalling with wild abandon. Prince was nosing along at Carolyn May’s side. “Bless me!” croaked Mr. Stagg. “That dog of yours, Car’lyn May, will give Jimmy a conniption fit yet. What d’you want down here?” Carolyn May told him. A man had come to the house to buy a cow, and Aunty Rose had sent the little girl down to tell Mr. Stagg to come home and “drive his own bargain.” “Well, well,” said Mr. Stagg, locking the ledger in the safe, “I’ll hustle right out and tend to it. Don’t see why the man couldn’t have waited till noontime. Hey, you, Chet!” Chet Gormley was not down in the cellar on this occasion. He appeared, wearing a much soiled apron, and with very black hands, having been sorting bolts. “Here I am, Mr. Stagg,” said the boy cheerfully. “Mornin’, Car’lyn May. And how’s our friend?” and he ventured to pat Prince’s head, having become well acquainted with the dog by this time. “Never mind that dog, Chet,” said Mr. Stagg. “You pay attention to me. Look out for the store. Don’t have any fooling. And——” “Oh, uncle! may I stay, too? Me and Prince?” cried Carolyn May. “We’ll be good.” “Pshaw! Yes, if you want to,” responded Mr. Stagg, hurrying away. He did not wish to be bothered with her just then. He desired to walk rapidly. Chet went to wash his hands and remove the apron. If he was to act as clerk instead of chore boy, he certainly must “dress the part.” Besides, he did not want to be so dirty in Carolyn May’s presence. It seemed to Chet Gormley as though a boy must look his very best to be worthy of companionship with the radiant little vision that Mr. Stagg referred to as “Hannah’s Car’lyn.” “My! your uncle’s changin’ more and more, ain’t he?” remarked Chet, the optimistic. “He does sometimes almost laugh, Car’lyn. I never see the beat of it!” “Oh, is he?” cried the little child. “Is he _looking up_ more? Do you think he is, Chet?” “I positively do,” Chet assured her. “And he hasn’t always got his nose in that old ledger?” “Well—I wouldn’t say that he neglected business, no, ma’am,” said the boy honestly. “You see, we men have got to think of business mostly. But he sure is thinkin’ of some other things, too—ya-as, indeedy!” “What things, Chet?” Carolyn May asked anxiously, hoping that Uncle Joe had shown some recovered interest in Miss Amanda and that Chet had noticed it. “Why—well—Now, you see, there’s that house you used to live in. You know about that?” “What about it, Chet?” the little girl asked rather timidly. “Do you mean where I lived with my mamma and papa before they—they went away?” “Yes. That’s the place.”