Mr. Bingle sighed. Neither had spoken for many minutes after the elevator door slammed behind the excited, shrill-voiced children. Mr. Bingle always sighed exactly at this moment in his reflections, and Mrs. Bingle always squeezed his hand fiercely and turned a pair of darkly regretful eyes upon him. "I am sorry, dear heart," she murmured, and then he kissed her hand and said that it was God's will. "It doesn't seem right, when we want them, need them so much," she said, huskily. And then he repeated the thing he always said on Christmas Eve: "One of these days I am going to adopt a--er--a couple, Mary, sure as I'm sitting here. We just can't grow old without having some of them about us. Some day we'll find the right sort of--" The bedroom door opened with a squeak, slowly and with considerable caution. The gaunt, bearded face of a tall, stooping old man appeared in the aperture; sharp, piercing eyes under thick grey eyebrows searched the room in a swift, almost unfriendly glance. "The infernal brats gone, Tom?" demanded Uncle Joe harshly. Mr. and Mrs. Bingle stiffened in their chairs. The tall old man came down to the fireplace, disgustedly kicking a stray, crumpled sheet of tissue paper out of his path. "Oh, they are perfect dears, Uncle Joe," protested Mrs. Bingle, trying her best not to bristle. "I wish you had come in for a look at 'em--" began Mr. Bingle, but the old man cut him off with a snort of anger. "Cussed little nuisances," he said, holding his thin hands to the blaze. "I don't see how you can say such things about children you don't know and can't--" began Mrs. Bingle. He glared at her. "You can't tell me anything about children, Mary. I'm the father of three and I know what I'm talking about. Children are the damnedest curse on earth. You ought to thank God you haven't got any." CHAPTER II RELATING TO AN ODD RELATION