Ruth was wondering what to say to her new uncle and sat in awkward silence as Aunt Jane ascended the stairs. Her step sounded lightly overhead and Mr. Ball twirled his thumbs absently. “You--you've come a long way, haven't you?” she asked. “Yes'm, a long way.” Then, seemingly for the first time, he looked at her, and a benevolent expression came upon his face. “You've got awful pretty hair, Niece Ruth,” he observed, admiringly; “now Mis' Ball, she wears a false front.” The lady of the house returned at this juncture, with the false front a little askew. “I was just a-sayin',” Mr. Ball continued, “that our niece is a real pleasant lookin' woman.” “She's your niece by marriage,” his wife replied, “but she ain't no real relative.” “Niece by merriage is relative enough,” said Mr.Ball, “and I say she's a pleasant lookin' woman, ain't she, now?” “She'll do, I reckon. She resembles her Ma.” Aunt Jane looked at Ruth, as if pitying the sister who had blindly followed the leadings of her heart and had died unforgiven. “Why didn't you let me know you were coming, Aunt Jane?” asked Ruth. “I've been looking for a letter every day and I understood you weren't coming back until October.” “I trust I am not unwelcome in my own house,” was the somewhat frigid response. “No indeed, Aunty--I hope you've had a pleasant time.” “We've had a beautiful time, ain't we, James? We've been on our honeymoon.” “Yes'm, we hev been on our honeymoon, travellin' over strange lands an' furrin wastes of waters. Mis' Ball was terrible sea sick comin' here.” “In a way,” said Aunt Jane, “we ain't completely married. We was married by a heathen priest in a heathen country and it ain't rightfully bindin', but we thought it would do until we could get back here and be married by a minister of the gospel, didn't we, James?” “It has held,” he said, without emotion, “but I reckon we will hev to be merried proper.” “Likewise I have my weddin' dress,” Aunt Jane went on, “what ain't never been worn. It's a beautiful dress--trimmed with pearl trimmin'”--here Ruth felt the pangs of a guilty conscience--“and I lay out to be married in it, quite private, with you and Hepsey for witnesses.” “Why, it's quite a romance, isn't it, Aunty?” “'T is in a way,” interjected Mr. Ball, “and in another way, 't ain't.” “Yes, Ruth,” Aunt Jane continued, ignoring the interruption, “'t is a romance--a real romance,” she repeated, with all the hard lines in her face softened. “We was engaged over thirty-five year. James went to sea to make a fortin', so he could give me every luxury. It's all writ out in a letter I've got upstairs. They's beautiful letters, Ruth, and it's come to me, as I've been settin' here, that you might make a book out'n these letters of James's. You write, don't you?” “Why, yes, Aunty, I write for the papers but I've never done a book.”