“You mean the fellar with the long, lanky build? He looks like he’s been stretched out when he was wet!” put in Uncle Todd. “Yes, I heard him with that there fiddle box. ’Tain’t more’n a mite of a box, with a couple of strings, but it kin keep a fellar awake, I tell you. There’s a tree near my hut with a regular rickin’ chair, made right in it, and them there boys like that place for their evenin’s. Well, Uncle Todd goes to bed earlier than the young fellars and—well, the chap with the fiddle sure does love to tune up,” and the usual chuckle ended his quaint statement. “But I really want to know about the auction, Uncle Todd,” interrupted Miss Allen. “I am so sorry Welche’s folks had to give the old place up at last. Did they sell everything?” “Couple times over. Never see such shouting and jumpin’. Why the Deeny girls, them old maids as never twisted their stiff necks to bow to man or beast in these parts, them was the wurst. They just seemed to want to buy every thin’ and carry it away in their old barouche.” The old man pounded his cane on the buffalo rug in sheer contempt. “Like as if they was goin’ to set up a first class boardin’ house hotel.” “Oh, you know, Uncle,” enlightened Aunt Mary. “They are related to the Welches.” “Eggzactly. I recall. More reason why they should act decent like. There was Mother Welch, out back in the barn, her apron most pokin’ her eyes out at every yell from old Sheriff Nailor.” “Now, I am just going to leave you two and the auction,” spoke up Jane, “while I devour the delectable news in my letter. Did you ever have a letter too good to read, Uncle Todd?” “Yes, girl, I know that feelin’. Like you hate to have it over because you want to have it on. Well, go to it, Janie, and don’t swallow too much of that yellar paper. Looks poison like to me.” Jane crushed the yellow envelope to her breast, in sheer delight. Then she snapped up a knitting needle to open the cherished missive. “You know, Auntie,” she whispered, “this will tell us who won dadykin’s scholarship.” Then raising her voice to Uncle Todd’s inquiring eyes, “Daddy gave a scholarship to my college, Unk,” she told him. “Do you suppose some very nice, prim, prudy, who took the home correspondence course between making sister Julia pinafores and Jacob’s jumpers, has won it? Of course, I respect home cooking girls, and particularly admire the devotees of domestic science, but Grade B from the Branchville would be all out of luck in the Wellington routine. Bye-bye now, and be good. Uncle Todd, don’t make Aunt Mary envious with your report of auction bargains. She is always and ever objecting to catalogue prices.”