But for the remembrance of his promise to Fanny, Mr. Stafford would have screamed. It is needless to say that he declined his host’s invitation, and the company began their dinner. Suddenly Mr. Stafford asked if Mr. Middleton had any brothers. "Yes—no, or, that is, I had one once," answered Mr. Middleton, "but he’s deader than a door nail afore this, I reckon." "And what makes you think he is dead?" asked Stafford. "Why, you see," returned Mr. Middleton, "when our old pap died, something in the will stuck crossways in Bill’s swaller, and he left college and put to sea, and I hain’t heard from him in fifteen years." "Did he look like you?" said Raymond. "He was four years younger than I," answered Mr. Middleton, "but no more like me than Sunshine’s pet kitten is like our old watch dog, Tige. He was soft like in his ways and took to book larnin mightily, and I’m—but everybody knows what old Josh is. Hold on thar! Save the pieces!" said he to Frank, who, unable longer to restrain his mirth, had deluged his plate with coffee. "Pray excuse me," said Frank, mortified beyond measure at his mishap. His discomfiture was, however, somewhat relieved by his companions, all of whom burst into a fit of laughter, in which Mr. Stafford heartily joined, forgetful of his promise to Fanny. By this time dinner was over and the company repaired to the porch, where Ashton and Raymond betook themselves to their cigars, while Mr. Middleton puffed away at his old cob pipe. Mr. Stafford at length resumed the dinner table conversation by saying, "If I were you, Mr. Middleton, I would not give up my brother yet; ’Hope on, hope ever,’ is my motto." "Hope on," repeated Mr. Middleton. "I have hoped on till I am tired on’t, and by spells I have dreams in which it seems like my brother was alive and had come back, and then my old gourd shell of a heart gives a thunderin’ thump, and fetches me up wide awake. I hate dreams mightily, for it takes me an all-fired while to get to sleep all over, and when I do I hate to be waked up by a dream." "I hope you’ll live to see your brother, though," said Frank. "No, I shan’t," answered Mr. Middleton, again filling his cob pipe. "Everything that I loved has always died." "Have you lost many friends?" asked Mr. Stafford. "Considerable many," said Mr. Middleton, "considering how few I ever had. First, thar was mother died, when Bill and I was little boys; I remember how we cried when we stood by her grave, and I was so feared Bill would bust his jacket open that I whispered to him not to take on so, for I’d be his mother now. And then that night, which was the longest and darkest I ever knew, we took turn rocking and singing to our little baby sister, just as we had seen mother do." Here he stopped a moment, and Raymond, who was rather impatient, said, "Don’t stop; go on."