When the train reached Hartford a number of passengers entered, all bound for New Haven. Among them was a comical-looking, middle-aged man, whom St. Leon instantly recognized as a person whom he had known when in college in New Haven, and whom the students familiarly called "Uncle Israel." The recognition was mutual, for Uncle Israel prided himself on never forgetting a person he had once seen. In a few moments St. Leon was overwhelming him with scores of questions, but Uncle Israel was a genuine Yankee, and never felt happier than when engaged in giving or guessing information. At length St. Leon asked, "Does Ada Linwood fulfil the promise of beauty which she gave as a child?" "Ada who?" said Uncle Israel. "Linwood," repeated St. Leon, arguing from the jog in Uncle Israel's memory that all was not right. "Do you mean the daughter of Harcourt Linwood, he that was said to be so rich?" "The same," returned St. Leon. "Where are they?" Uncle Israel settled himself with the air of a man who has a long story on hand, and intends to tell it at his leisure. Filling his mouth with an enormous quid of tobacco, he commenced: "Better than four years ago Linwood smashed up, smack and clean; lost everything he had, and the rest had to be sold at vandue. But what was worse than all, seein' he was a fine feller in the main, and I guess didn't mean to fail, he took sick, and in about a month died." "And what became of his widow and orphan?" asked St. Leon eagerly. "Why, it wasn't nateral," said Uncle Israel, "that they should keep the same company they did before, and they's too plaguy stuck up to keep any other; so they moved out of town and supported themselves by takin' in sewin' or ironin', I forgot which." "But where are they now?" asked St. Leon. Uncle Israel looked at him for a moment, and then replied, "The Lord knows, I suppose, but Israel don't." "Did they suffer at all?" asked St. Leon. "Not as long as I stuck to them, but they sarved me real mean," answered Uncle Israel. "In what way?" "Why, you see," said Uncle Israel, "I don't know why, but somehow I never thought of matrimony till I got a glimpse of Ada at her father's vandue. To be sure, I'd seen her before, but then she was mighty big feelin', and I couldn't ha' touched her with a hoe-handle, but now 'twas different. I bought their house. I was rich and they was poor."