It was a light trip one evening, for the weather was disagreeable, and unless the theatre filled them up, it would be a very poor evening's work. As they went out of town nearly empty, Bertha came rushing out upon the front platform to Max, and said to him, in terror, "Your uncle and aunt are on board!" "What?" "Your Uncle Stephen, from New Britain, and your aunt, and they have two of your old-fashioned German carpet-bags, two baskets and a bird-cage. They are coming to make us a visit. He asked me very carefully to leave them at the corner of Sprigg Court." "Make us a visit!" cried Max, aghast. "How can we run the car?" "I don't know that," said Bertha. "I should like to know first how they are to get into the house." "That, indeed," said Max; and, after a pause, "You must manage it somehow." That is what men always say to their wives when the puzzle is beyond their own solution. And Bertha managed it. Fortunately for her, the night was dark. The old uncle and aunt were quite out of their latitude, and they didn't know their longitude. They were a good deal dazed by the unusual experience of travel. They were very obedient when Bertha stopped the car a full square before she came to her own house, and said,-- "You had better get out here. I will take your baskets and the cage." This she did, and deposited all three of the bipeds on the sidewalk. She bade them "Good evening" even, and, when the old gentleman had at last put his somewhat cumbrous question, "Could you kindly tell us on which corner Mr. Max Keesler lives?" the car was gone in the darkness. Short work that night as Bertha doffed her ulster and assumed her home costume. For Max, he only tethered the horses, and then ran into the house, lighted it, and waited. Bertha joined him, however, before his uncle appeared. And leaving her in her own parlor, the guilty Max put on his hat, walked down the avenue, and met his dazed relatives, so that he could help them and the canary-bird and the baskets to his own door. "Come, Bertha, come!" he cried. "Here is Uncle Stephen and my aunt!" "Where did you drop from, dear aunt?" And the dear old lady explained how they had rung at the wrong door, how long the servant was in coming, and then how badly the servant understood their English. "But how came you there at all?" persisted Bertha. "Oh, the conductor left us at the wrong street." "At the wrong street!" cried Bertha. "These conductors are so careless! But this man must have done it on purpose. What looking man was he?" "My dear child," said her aunt, speaking in German, "you must not blame him; he was very young and very kind; perhaps he was a new man, and did not know. He was very kind, and carried the bird himself to the sidewalk." After this, mischievous Mistress Bertha did not dare say a word. But there was no second trip that evening. * * * * * Nor the next evening. Nor the next. Nor the next. Nor for many evenings more.