Uncle Naboth walked very fast at first, but while we ascended the little hill his pace grew gradually slower, and as we reached the well-remembered bench beneath the trees, from whence our first view of the cottage was obtained, my uncle suddenly set himself down and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with the well-remembered crimson handkerchief. “We’ll rest a minute, Sam, so’s I can get my breath back,” he gasped. “I’ll need it all, presently, and hill-climbin’ ain’t my ’special accomplishment.” So I sat down beside him and waited patiently, eyeing the while rather sadly the old home where I had once been so happy. It seemed not to have changed in any way since I left it. The blinds of my little room in the attic were closed, but those of the lower floor were thrown back, and a column of thin smoke ascended lazily from the chimney, showing that the place was still inhabited. In spite of myself I shivered. The autumn air struck me as being chilly for the first time, and the declining sun moved slowly behind a cloud, throwing the same gloom over the landscape that was already in my heart. “Are you ready, Uncle?” I asked, unable to bear the suspense longer. “Jest a minute, Sam. Let’s see; the opening shot was this way: There’s folks, ma’am, that can be more heartless than the brute beasts, more slyer than a roarin’ tiger, more fiercer than a yellow fox, an’—” “That isn’t right, Uncle Naboth,” I interrupted. “The fox is sly and the tiger—” “I know, I know. Them speeches is gettin’ sorter mixed in my mind; but if that she-devil don’t quail when she hears ’em, my name ain’t Naboth Perkins! Perhaps I ought to have committed ’em more to memory—eh, Sam? What do you say to waitin’ till tomorrow?” “No, Uncle. Let’s go to her now. You can reserve your vials of wrath, if you want to; but I shan’t sleep a wink unless I pay Mrs. Ranck that money.” “All right,” said the old man, with assumed cheerfulness. “There’s no time like the present. ‘Never put off ’til tomorrer,’ you know. Come along, my lad!” He sprang up and led the way with alacrity for a few steps, and then slackened his pace perceptibly. “If I’m goin’ to forget all them speeches,” he whispered, in a voice that trembled slightly, “I might jest as well have saved my time a-composin’ of ’em. Drat the old she-pirate! If she wasn’t a woman, I’d pitch her into the sea.” By this time I was myself too much agitated to pay attention to my uncle’s evident fright on the eve of battle. The house was very near now; a few steps further and we were standing upon the little porch. “You knock, Uncle,” I said, in a whisper. Uncle Naboth glanced at me reproachfully, and then raised his knuckles. But before they touched the panel of the door he paused, drew out his handkerchief, and again wiped his brow. I felt that my nerves would hear no further strain. With the desperation of despair or a sudden accession of courage—I never knew which—I rapped loudly upon the door.