“Uncle,” said Palma, “you appear to me like a patriarch of old living among his tribe.” “Yes, dear child, with this exception—the patriarchs were men of large families, with many sons and daughters, and sons-in-law and daughters-in-law, and innumerable grandchildren and great-grandchildren to the third and fourth generation, to rise up and call them blessed. And I—have none.” “Oh! uncle, dear, you have us. We love you; indeed, we do. And we will serve you as tenderly and devotedly as any children could.” “I know it, my dear; I know it. And I thank the Lord for sending you to me.” “And I thank the Lord that you let us come. And, oh! uncle, I wish we could multiply ourselves into a tribe of many generations to serve and bless you.” “All in good time, my little love; all in good time,” said the old man with a twinkle in his glowing brown eyes. The three miles’ circuit of the road was completed, and they reached the house just as the winter sun was winking out of sight behind the western peak. “The first day the ground will admit of walking I shall go on foot to make the acquaintance of all your interesting people, Uncle Cleve. I liked the glimpses I got of them as we flew by,” said Palma as she gave her hand to her husband and sprang out of the sleigh. “Yes, my child, so you shall,” replied the old man as he in his turn alighted with the assistance of both Stuart and Palma. “So you shall, my dear. And there are some few neighbors and some distant relatives of ours with whom you must soon make acquaintance.” “Who are they, uncle, dear?” inquired Palma as she entered the house on the old man’s arm, followed by Stuart and Mrs. Pole, while ’Sias drove the sleigh around to the stables. “I will tell you presently, dear,” replied Mr. Cleve. In the hall Palma laid off her fur cloak and hood and gave them to Hatty to take upstairs. Stuart helped his uncle off with his overcoat and muffler. When they had all returned to the oak parlor, where the great fire had been replenished, and were seated around the hearth enjoying the glow, and while Polly was passing in and out setting the tea table, Mr. Cleve said: “We have no very near relations left in this world. We who sit here are the nearest of kin to each other. Still, you know, Virginians are as clannish as highlanders.” “Yes, indeed. I remember that much of my beloved mother. No matter how distant the relationship or how humble or even unworthy the individual, my dear mother always held sacred the claims of kindred. My poor father, who was not so clannish, used to laugh at her a little and ask: “‘Why do you not take in all the human race at once, since all are Sons and daughters of our first parents, and brothers and sisters of ourselves?’” “Well, he was right,” commented the old man. “But excuse me for interrupting you, uncle. You were speaking of our kindred in this country, and we are anxious to hear of them.”