"He said," stated the imp, darting his tongue out in triumph at his victory over Huldah, "that he always thought you was a stiff." "He didn't say nothing of the kind!" declared Huldah. "He said you was stiff-necked, and that he presumed you would act more like a stepfather than the real thing. Well, as I was saying, he asked their names, and he liked them fine. Said they were so classy." "Didn't he say classic, Huldah?" inquired Rob. "Mebby. What's the difference?" snapped Huldah. "None," I assured her quickly, dodging a definition. "She told him--" began Emerald. "You shut up," again adjured Huldah, "or I'll never bake you one of those small pies no more." "Oh, please, Huldah," I coaxed. "Let us hear everything. I've always told you my life's secrets, and I don't mind what you or the boys told him." "Well, I suppose what he was going to tattle was that I thought the old gent might feel hurt, 'cause none of them was named after him, so I told him Polly's middle name was Issachar." "Why, Huldah," remonstrated Silvia. "Well, he's always wanted a middle name, and he's never been baptized, so you can stick it in and have him ducked next Sunday and then that will square that. 'Them Three' stuck to him like a hive of bees, and I was scairt for fear they'd let the cat out of the bag, and so long as they had put it in, I thought it might just as well stay in, but they were just as slick as grease in all they said. They'll hang in that rogues' gallery yet." "I suppose they were pretty--strenuous," said Silvia with a sigh. "They was more than that. The first afternoon right after dinner when he was sitting on the front porch, sleeping peaceful and snoring, that there one--" pointing to Pythagoras-- "Tattle-tale!" he began, but I administered a cuff and he subsided into surprised silence. [Illustration: "He went to the front window and dropped a young kitten down on the old gent's head."] "He," said Huldah, looking pleased at this little attention to the boy, "went to the front window and dropped a young kitten down on the old gent's head. It clawed something fierce. We had just got things going smooth again when Emmy got one of his earaches. I roasted an onion and put in his ear, and what did he do but take it out of his ear and slip it down your poor uncle's back." "Why didn't you beat them?" I asked indignantly. "Because the old gent did that. He put 'em across his knee, and believe me, it was some licking they caught. They didn't let out a whimper and that pleased him." "Huh!" said Emerald. "Thag don't know how to cry. He hasn't got any tears, and old Uncle Iz didn't hurt me, because, you see, when I heard Thag getting his, I went and stuffed the Declaration of Independence, that book of stepdaddy's that Demetrius tore the pictures out of, in my pants." "Go on!" urged Rob delightedly. "What else did you all do? Uncle must have had some time. It would make a fine scenario. 'The first visit of the rich uncle.'"