A bright, glad smile broke over honest Billy’s face. “Why, you see, ma’am, I don’t care how much work I have to do—I does it cheerful. I don’t care how little wages I gets—I takes it—contented. But I ain’t got but one life to live on this yeth, and while I do live, I _must_ live in a pretty place, long o’ pretty people. Anything else smothers of me—it stifles of me—it gives me the—I mean it makes my wittles disagree with me.” And, so saying, Billy shouldered his bundle and trunk, and took them up into the loft over the kitchen, as if he had slept there all his life, and knew the way. And then he came down, and took two big buckets to go to the well. And so, without more ado, Billy was inaugurated in his new place and duties. And a most “invaluable acquisition” he really proved. Billy had now been living several months with the Sutherlands. To return: Rosalie went into the kitchen, to give directions to Billy about the supper. She found him sitting down, stirring the batter for the pancakes. She told him she expected a stranger to tea, and that he must make coffee also, and dress two prairie fowls, and broil some ham. And next she went into her dining-room and set her table, adorning it with her finest damask table-cloth, and best china, and placing upon it her nicest cakes and preserves. She was so engaged when Mr. Sutherland returned, bringing in Uncle Billy. I cannot do anything like justice to the vociferous joy with which Mr. Bolling rushed upon his dear niece, as he called Rosalie. She received him with an affectionate welcome. “I am come to stay with you as long as I possibly can, my dear. Although a man like me has a great many conflicting claims upon his time and presence, of course, nevertheless I intend to stay with you as long as possible.” Rosalie assured him that the longer he stayed the better she should be pleased. And then, as Billy had put supper on the table, she invited him in to that meal. And Mr. Bolling sat down and enjoyed it with as much gusto as if he had not partaken of a heavy luncheon at Garner’s. When supper was over, and Mr. Bolling had been invited by Mark to take a stroll around the premises, Billy entered, to clear off the table, and, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder, he asked— “Who _is_ yon fat, puffed-up fellow in the rosy face and white jacket and trousers?” “He is my husband’s uncle, and you must speak of him more respectfully.” “That’s ’cordin’ as it may be,” said Billy, as he moved off under the weight of the laden tea-tray. Rosalie’s benevolent heart was so gratified at having some one else to be good to, and Mark was so pleased to see her satisfaction, that he became quite reconciled to the intruder. But Billy was not to be mollified. When Mr. Bolling had been domesticated a week in the house, one morning Billy bounced suddenly in upon Rosalie, as she stood arranging the breakfast table, and asked— “How long is your uncle-in-law going to stay here?”