'You have not mentioned Jessie's name,' he says, 'thinking perhaps it would pain me; but I can speak of her without grief, if not without sadness. I have only one wish in life now, my dear lad.' Believing that he refers to a reconciliation between himself and Jessie, and having full faith in my mother's power to bring this about, I say that I earnestly hope it will be fulfilled, and that I believe it will be. He gazes at me with a soft light in his eyes. 'You know in what relation she stands to me, Chris?' 'Yes, uncle.' If I could give her to you, my dear boy----' But I stop him here, and beg him in scarcely distinct words not to continue the subject. 'But one word, Chris,' he says; 'you love her still?' 'With all my heart, uncle, and shall all my life. But it hurts me to speak of her; I can bear it better in silence.' My mother calls out that tea is ready, and once more we three sit down together. 'I miss the little parlour,' my mother says; 'how many happy years we lived there!' She forgets all the sorrow and pain we experienced there, and recalls only the tenderest reminiscences. Occasionally a flash of uncle Bryan's old humour gives piquancy to the conversation, but there is now no bitterness or cynicism in what he says. At eight o'clock my mother puts on her bonnet; I am surprised that we are going so early, but she says it is a fine night and that she feels inclined for a walk. 'Uncle Bryan will walk with us,' I say. My mother shakes her head, smilingly, and says she does not want him. I look towards uncle Bryan; he does not seem in the least disturbed. 'We shall see each other again soon,' he says, as he shakes hands with me on the doorstep of his house. 'You will come to us, then,' I say eagerly. 'I want to show you my work.' 'Yes, I will come very soon; but your mother will see to everything, Chris.' 'There is one thing I want particularly to ask you, uncle, if you'll not mind.' 'Say it, my dear boy.' 'Living here, all alone, as you are doing,' I say, and I pause somewhat awkwardly. He assists me. 'Yes, my dear boy--living here all alone, as I am doing----' 'I was thinking it must be very lonely for you, uncle.' 'It is a lonely life, Chris, living by oneself.' 'And without any friends near you.' 'Yes, my dear boy.' 'I want you to give up these rooms, uncle, and come and live with us, or if you wouldn't like to do that, to go back to your shop.' His eyes brighten; my mother's eyes also are beaming. 'It would be a pity to take the shop away from that good little woman, Josey West. And you would really like me to come and live with you again?' 'It would make us very happy--mother especially. Look at her face.' 'With all my eccentricities and oddities, you would still wish me to come?' 'Ah, but you are altered now.' He makes a grimace. 'Well, even if you were not, I should be very, very glad if you will come. You can give me lessons in flower-growing.'