“Guy, ain’t they stunners? They beat Ruth Gardner all hollow. And look at that gal’s ankles, will you; it’s enough to make a chap older than I am crawl, to see such things,” he continued, as the tops of Maude’s boots became visible in her descent from the car. In a moment both the girls had caught him round the neck, making him very red in the face, and “awful ticklish at the pit of his stomach,” as they kissed him more than once, and then kept hold of his hands while they asked him scores of questions. “There,—there; yes, yes; let me be now, can’t you; yes, yes,” he said. “I’m about strangled with your hugs and kisses, and I not used to it, and the folks in the car lookin’ on. It’ll give a feller the dyspepsia to have his digester so riled up. These your traps, hey? Look like little housen; shall have to come back for ’em sure, for Bobtail can’t carry all creation” he continued, as Maude pointed out her own and Edna’s baggage. Uncle Phil was very proud of his guests and very desirous to show them off, and making an excuse to see a man about re-setting a light of stained glass which some “tarnal boy had broken in one of the windows of his synagogue,” he drove the entire length of the street on which ‘Squire Gardner lived, and felt repaid for his trouble when he saw Miss Ruth looking at them from her chamber window. He did not find his man, but “Ruth saw the gals and the gals’ _hats_, which he was so glad were not such all-fired lookin’ things as she wore and tried to make folks think was the fashion. Maybe ’twas with a certain class, but needn’t tell him that fust cut, who knew what was what, wore such ’bominable things. Why, Ruth’s hat looks jest like a tunnel with a ribbon tied ’round it,” he said to the young ladies, who accused him of having set up as a critic in dress, Maude promising to show him some fashions, “which would make him stare more than Ruth Gardner’s tunnel had done.” They found the nicest, cosiest tea waiting for them, and Aunt Becky was quite as much pleased to see them as Uncle Phil had been. The front chamber was in perfect order, and Uncle Phil had tried his hand at a bouquet, made from daffodils and evergreens, and arranged in a broken pitcher. They had come to spend a week, and the days flew rapidly, each one seeming to Uncle Phil shorter and happier than the preceding one. He had a great deal to tell them about his church, which was nearly completed, and would be ready for consecration in August, when the bishop had promised to be there.