He walked in and took a chair in what he was sure was the best room, and at which he looked curiously, contrasting it with the grand rooms at home, where one article of furniture must have cost nearly as much as every article here would sell for. And yet there was an air of comfort about it, with its cushioned easy-chairs, its wide sofa, its footstools and rugs, made by hand he was sure, and the centre-table, with some books and a vase, with a few roses filling the room with perfume. Somebody liked flowers. Probably the girl and not Mrs. Pledger, whose personal appearance did not bear much relation to hot-house roses, and who was habited in a dark calico with a wide apron, suggestive of the kitchen, from which she had come in answer to Alex.’s summons. She was the most indulgent of mistresses, and her maid of all work went and came about as she pleased. On this particular occasion she had gone to see her cousin off by steamer, and Mrs. Pledger, in the basement, was preparing their twelve o’clock dinner when Alex.’s ring called her upstairs. “Did you want to see me or Joel?” she asked, as Alex. sat wondering what he was to say and why he was there. It seemed such a flimsy reason, but he must say something, and he began: “You will do as well as your husband, and I really think I ought to apologize for intruding upon you, an entire stranger, who may not be the one I want at all.” “Suppose you tell me what you do want, and not beat around the bush. We can get at it better,” Mrs. Pledger said, her lips beginning to tighten. Alex. braced up at once and began: “I want to know if you ever knew my great-uncle Amos Marsh? I’ve had a letter from him, and he’s dead.” “Dead! How you talk! Amos Marsh dead! That beats me! When did he die, and what ailed him?” Mrs. Pledger exclaimed. She knew him then, and Alex. hastened to explain, saying nothing at first of the property, but speaking of the letter to himself, in which Mr. Joel Pledger was mentioned. “Yes, yes,” Mrs. Pledger said, with emotion. “Remembered us, the dear old man. I knew he would. What did he say?” This was more than Alex. had reckoned on. Uncle Amos had merely written Joel Pledger’s name, but the woman expected something more, and Alex. wished awfully to lie and say something complimentary, but he didn’t. He said hurriedly: “He wrote such a nice letter that it made me wish to find you and a Mr. Crosby. Do you know him, and do you know anything about the farm where Uncle Amos used to live? I believe it belongs to me and my sister now that he is dead.” “I rather think I do know something about it. I don’t know who would if I don’t. I was there a great deal when I was a little girl. Eli Crosby was my half brother, twenty years old when I was born. I am sixty-five; he’d be eighty-five if living. We are a long-lived race,” was Mrs. Pledger’s reply.