“He was so wretched that at last I gave way,” said Mrs. Bowman, with a simper. “Poor fellow, it was such a shock to him that he hasn’t got back his cheerfulness yet.” Mr. Tucker said, “Indeed!” “He’ll be all right soon,” said Mrs. Bowman, in confidential tones. “We are on the way to put our banns up, and once that is done he will feel safe. You are not really afraid of losing me again, are you, Nathaniel?” Mr. Clark shook his head, and, meeting the eye of Mr. Tucker in the process, favored him with a glance of such utter venom that the latter was almost startled. “Good-by, Mr. Tucker,” said the widow, holding out her hand. “Nathaniel did think of inviting you to come to my wedding, but perhaps it is best not. However, if I alter my mind, I will get him to advertise for you again. Good-by.” She placed her arm in Mr. Clark’s again, and led him slowly away. Mr. Tucker stood watching them for some time, and then, with a glance in the direction of the “George,” where he had left a very small portmanteau, he did a hasty sum in comparative values and made his way to the railway-station. HER UNCLE [Illustration] HER UNCLE Mr. Wragg sat in a high-backed Windsor chair at the door of his house, smoking. Before him the road descended steeply to the harbor, a small blue patch of which was visible from his door. Children over five were at school: children under that age, and suspiciously large for their years, played about in careless disregard of the remarks which Mr. Wragg occasionally launched at them. Twice a ball had whizzed past him; and a small but select party, with a tip-cat of huge dimensions and awesome points, played just out of reach. Mr. Wragg, snapping his eyes nervously, threatened in vain. “Morning, old crusty-patch,” said a cheerful voice at his elbow. Mr. Wragg glanced up at the young fisherman towering above him, and eyed him disdainfully. “Why don’t you leave ’em alone?” inquired the young man. “Be cheerful and smile at ’em. You’d soon be able to smile with a little practice.” “You mind your business, George Gale, and I’ll mind mine,” said Mr. Wragg, fiercely; “I’ve ’ad enough of your impudence, and I’m not going to have any more. And don’t lean up agin my house, ’cos I won’t ’ave it.” Mr. Gale laughed. “Got out o’ bed the wrong side again, haven’t you?” he inquired. “Why don’t you put that side up against the wall?” Mr. Wragg puffed on in silence and became absorbed in a fishing-boat gliding past at the bottom of the hill. “I hear you’ve got a niece coming to live with you?” pursued the young man. Mr. Wragg smoked on. “Poor thing!” said the other, with a sigh. “Does she take after you—in looks, I mean?” “If I was twenty years younger nor what I am,” said Mr. Wragg, sententiously, “I’d give you a hiding, George Gale.” “It’s what I want,” agreed Mr. Gale, placidly. “Well, so long, Mr. Wragg. I can’t stand talking to you all day.”