The partners and Mr. Chase listened with interest to the reading of the letters and expressed their approval. Shadrach's applause was loudest of all, but he seemed to find difficulty in meeting his niece's eye. Just before bedtime, after Zoeth and Isaiah had gone upstairs and he was locking up for the night, Mary, whom he supposed had gone also, reentered the dining-room and stood before him. “Uncle Shad,” she said severely, “come here a minute and sit down. I want to talk with you.” She led him to the big rocker. Then she took the little one beside it. “Now, look me in the face,” she commanded. “No,” not out of the window--here. Um . . . yes. I don't wonder you turn red. I should think you might be ashamed.” “I--I--what's that?” stammered Shadrach, turning redder than ever. “What do you mean? Turnin' red! Who's turnin' red?” “You are,” said the young lady, firmly, “and you know it. Now, look me straight in the eye. Uncle Shad Gould, don't you think it would have been more honorable, if you wished to know whether Crawford Smith and I corresponded, to have asked me instead of hinting? Don't you think it would?” “Hintin'? Why--why, Mary-'Gusta, what-what--?” His face was a study in expression. Mary bit her lip, but she managed to appear solemn. “Yes, hinting,” she said. “Instead of asking if Crawford and I had written each other you hinted. Well, now you know that we did write, and have heard his letters to me, have you any objection?” “Objection? No, no, course not. Why--I--I think 'twas a fine thing. I--I like to get letters; a heap better than I do to write 'em,” he added truthfully. “Then why?” “Well--well--I--I--” “And aren't you ashamed?” repeated Mary. “Why--why, yes, by the jumpin' fire, I am! There! I was ashamed when I done it.” “Then why did you do it?” “Well--well, you see, Mary-'Gusta, I just wanted to know. Your Uncle Zoeth and me have been actin' as your pilots for a consider'ble spell. Course you're gettin' big enough now to cruise on your own hook--that is, in reason, you understand--but--but--well, we've got so used to takin' an observation every noontime, seein' how you're layin' your course, you know, that it's hard to lose the habit. Not that Zoeth was in on this,” he added honestly. “He didn't do any of the hintin', as you call it. I imagine he'll preach my head off for doin' it, when he gets me alone.” “You deserve to have it preached off--or partly off, at any rate. Do you beg my pardon?” “Sartin sure. I'd beg it on my bended knees if 'twa'n't for the rheumatiz.” “And you won't hint any more?” “Nary a hint.” “That's right. If you want me to tell you anything, please ask. You must trust me, Uncle Shad. I shall always tell--when there is anything to tell.” “I know you will, Mary-'Gusta. I'm ashamed of my hintin'. God bless you, dearie. Now kiss me good night.”