Mr. Sanders cared not a whit for old Jonas's irritation, and so he alighted from the coach and followed the rest into the house. He was just in time to hear Adelaide begin her course of instruction to old Jonas. "Nunky-Punky," said she, very solemn, "why didn't you wait for Mr.----oh, I know who he is, he's the Peskerwhalian Bishop!--why didn't you wait for the Bishop?" "Much he looks like a bishop!" replied old Jonas, when he could control his cough. "Did you ever hear a bishop boo-hooing and carrying on in that way?" The child stared at her uncle so seriously that he was actually embarrassed. He rubbed his hand over a sharp chin that needed a razor very badly, and really forgot that he was angry with Mr. Sanders. Then something quite shocking occurred to Adelaide's nimble mind. [Illustration: "The child stared at her uncle so seriously that he was actually embarrassed"] "Oh, Nunky-Punky!" she cried, "you didn't kiss me when I comed, and everybody said you would, cause I asked 'em particular." "Honey," said Mr. Sanders, "le' me stand in Nunky-Punky's shoes while the kissin' is gwine on, bekaze he ain't shaved in two days, and his whiskers'll scratch your face." But Adelaide ran to old Jonas, and held out her little arms to be lifted up. Jonas hesitated; he looked at Lucindy, then at Mr. Sanders, and finally allowed his glance to fall on the sweetly solemn face of the child. He tried to say something, to make some excuse, but he could think of none. He was not only dreadfully embarrassed, he was actually ashamed. Not in forty years had any one ever asked to kiss him and, whether you count it backward or forward, forty years is a long time. Mr. Sanders tried to pilot him through the deep water--so to speak--in which he found himself. "Sit down, Jonas, and take Miss Adelaide on your knee, an' let the thing be done right. Kinder shet your eyes an' pucker your mouth, and she'll do the rest." "Sanders," said old Jonas, bristling up again, "if you really want to hurt my feelings just say so. You have no real delicacy about you. How do you know some one hasn't told the little girl that it is her duty to pretend to want to kiss her uncle, whether she wants to or not? Tell me that!" Old Jonas's eyes glistened under his overhanging brows, and if "looks" could kill a man, Mr. Sanders would have fallen down dead. Adelaide dropped her arms, and stood close to old Jonas's knee, looking quite forlorn. "Well, come on, Cally-Lou, Uncle Jonas has a very bad cold and a headache, and we mustn't bother him."