It really was quite astonishing how his voice could change when he spoke to her, and how his face brightened when she came in without hesitation and received the package with a pleased,--"Thank you, sir." "Well, I declare,--quite right, to be sure; but don't you know who I am, and what my name is?" "Yes, sir, you're my papa's uncle, and your name is Mr. Congreve," answered Jean, just a little startled at being lifted on to his knee, and having his arm around her. "So I am, to be sure; quite true; but if I'm your papa's uncle, I'm your great-uncle, and there isn't such an immense amount of difference; don't you suppose you had better call me Uncle Ridley, as he did?" "Why, I don't know, perhaps I had. I'll ask mama," answered Jean in earnest simplicity. "Well, you do that, and tell her if she's not busy, I'd like to talk with her awhile. Do you remember what I said to you this morning?" "Yes, sir." "Well, I'm going to talk to her about it now." Jean slipped down in a hurry, and departed with her big bundle of candy, looking both pleased and frightened. Mrs. Dering came down in a moment, and not having entirely given up his imaginary widow, Mr. Congreve looked up in some trepidation to see if she was crying. But no; her face, though pale and sad, was perfectly tranquil, and her dress was cozy, comfortable brown. After a few remarks about his walk, and the attractions of Canfield, conversation sank into an uneasy pause, and for some unknown reason, Mr. Congreve grew as red as a lobster. He had expected when he came that all he would have to do would be to fill out a check for several thousand, assure the demonstrative widow that she should never want, graciously allow the children to call him Uncle Ridley, submit to be kissed at coming and going, then get out of the way, and confine his further acquaintance with them to the medium of occasional checks and a few letters, when,--well, did you ever!--here he sat, blushing like the most bashful lover in Christendom, and couldn't get up his courage to offer the widow help of any kind; had actually requested the youngest child to kiss, and call him Uncle Ridley, and was now entertaining an idea, which, had it been broached to him before leaving home, would have aroused his fiercest ridicule and amaze. "You know, perhaps," he began, with a preparatory and strengthening sniff of snuff, "that I heard from Robert, some days ago?" "Yes, sir, but I did not know it until last night." "Humph!" he remembered his first greeting, and looked at her sharply. "Perhaps you did not know until then, just how his affairs stood?" "No, sir, I did not. Our daughter Olive was her father's book-keeper and confidante; she knew all; but with his ever thoughtful consideration, he hoped to settle his business difficulty without worrying me, and I did not know until after I left you last night, how deep had been his trouble."