“That's breakfast now.” Henry nodded toward the door. “Don't wait for me--I usually dodge the old man. We've got summer boarders--kin folks. Cousin Eth' and her mammy are here with all their finicky airs. Eth's a full-fledged young lady now of the Atlanta upper crust, and what she don't know about what's proper and decent in manners never was written in a book of etiquette. She begun to give me lessons last year about how and when to use a fork--said I made it rattle between my teeth. I called her down. She knows I don't ask her no odds. There is a swell fellow in Atlanta, a banker, Ed Peterson, that comes up to spend Sunday with her now and then. I never have been able to find out whether Eth' cares for him or not. The old man likes him because he's got money, and he's trying to make a match of it. I think Aunt Harriet leans that way a little, too, but I'm not sure. Oh, he's too dinky-dinky for anything--can't drive out from town without a nigger to hold his horse, and wears kid gloves in hot weather, and twists his mustache.” Glad to get away from the loquacious gossip, Paul descended the stairs to the dining-room. Here nothing had been changed. The same old-fashioned pictures in veneered mahogany frames were hanging between the windows. The same figured china vases stood on the mantelpiece over the fireplace, which was filled with evergreens, and the hearth was whitewashed as when he had last seen it. Mrs. Tilton, looking considerably older, more wrinkled, thinner, and bent, stood waiting for him at the head of the table. “I'm glad to see you ag'in, Paul,” She extended her hand and smiled cordially. “I've wondered many and many a time if you'd ever come back. Jim was telling me about you just now. How relieved you must feel to find things as they are! Set down at the side there. Jim's out among the beehives with Jack. They have to have a romp every momin'. Jack is a big boy now, and powerful bright. There, I hear 'em coming.” “Get up! Get up! Whoa!” the child's voice rang out, and Hoag, puffing and panting, with Jack astride his shoulders, stood pawing like a restive horse at the edge of the porch. “Jump down now,” Hoag said, persuasively. “One more round!” the boy cried, with a merry laugh. “No; off you go or I'll dump you on the porch.” “You can't!” Jack retorted. “You ain't no Mexican bronco. I'll dig my heels in your flanks and stick on till you are as tame as a kitten.” “No; get down now, I'm hungry,” Hoag insisted; “besides, we've got company, an' we mustn't keep 'im waiting.” That seemed to settle the argument, and in a moment Jack entered, casting shy glances at the visitor, to whom he advanced with a slender hand extended. “You can't remember me, Jack,” Paul said. “You were a little tot when I left.”