“So, perhaps, Matilda will not have the gratification of being a martyr after all,” cried Sophy, laughing; “her honey-water will sour by keeping, and my vinegar become flat; well, after all, I am a little disappointed. I don’t believe he is at all rich, Matilda, unless he is gouty, cross, and every thing bad; it would be too much of a good thing if he were.” Matilda did not much relish her sister’s raillery, and a sharp reply rose to her lips as the door opened and her uncle entered. Mrs. Medway immediately rose, and introduced him to her daughters, and Grace offered him the arm-chair which he politely accepted, and then expressed, in a very few words, his thanks for her courtesy. He was, of course, an object of great interest to the little group, and did not altogether answer their expectations. Uncle Medway was tall, and rather stout, with a fine open countenance, yellow and brown, to be sure, in its hue, but the expression of his mouth contradicted at once all idea of ill-nature. His eyes were small, with a keen, shrewd, searching expression; and one could scarcely credit that their vision was impaired, so that without glasses he could not distinguish minute objects. He carried an ear-cornet in his hand, and apologised for his infirmities, speaking in a nervous and abrupt manner. “You will find me a troublesome inmate, I fear, madam,” he said to Mrs. Medway; “my infirmities make me a poor companion. I am a man of few words, and my loss of hearing renders it almost impossible to enjoy the conversation of others, while even the pleasure of reading is in part denied me.” “My daughters will be delighted to serve you in every way,” said Mrs. Medway, graciously. “Now is your chance,” loudly whispered Sophy, to her sister, “lay your eyes, ears, and tongue, at the feet of your golden idol.” “Sophy!” exclaimed her mother, in an agony, but the sight of the ear-cornet calmed her fears. The evening passed slowly away; Uncle Medway retired early, and the young ladies, after exchanging opinions of him, went to rest, to dream golden dreams, as Sophy maliciously said. Uncle Medway did not appear at breakfast on the following morning, but during the forenoon, while the young ladies were occupied at their several employments, he unexpectedly entered, and with an apologetic smile and bow, took the seat which Matilda hastened to offer, tendering at the same time very affectionate inquiries regarding his health. The old gentleman quietly put on his glasses and lowered his ear-cornet, requesting her to repeat her words, while Sophy maliciously offered to prompt her, in case she forgot her lesson. Matilda looked thunder at her sister, and sunshine at her uncle as she repeated her questions. “I rested well, thank you,” said her uncle, “and as I hope to become better acquainted in time, you will not, I trust, be offended at my scrutiny.” He took Matilda’s hand as he spoke, and looked earnestly in her countenance.