Their father, apparently, had never noticed the incongruity of this, for he died pleased with the thought that his son would be a gentleman, and his daughter a lady, in the highest and best meaning of the terms. And so this brother and sister had become the joint owners of the Bright farm, and in all these years the writ of banishment had never been annulled. It had often served as a topic of conversation between the brother and sister, and for years they had felt very bitter against their father’s family; but as they grew older, and the family in question grew smaller, until at last it had dwindled down to this one sister of their father’s, they had grown charitable over the wrongs that had caused them no suffering, until at last they had determined on making this poor, lonesome old woman an offer of peace and forgetfulness. They always thought of her as poor and lonesome, though they knew nothing about her beyond the fact that she was old and unmarried. That was sufficient, Norine thought; and she must be very lonesome indeed. And so it was decided that they would write to her and invite her to pay them a visit. But here they found two difficulties to contend with. First, they had to find her address; that took them a matter of six months; and then they had to write the letter, and that took them nearly as long. There never was such a difficult task, Norine thought; and Jim smoked innumerable pipes over it, and wasted enough paper to have lasted him a lifetime of ordinary correspondence. For, you see, they had pride themselves, and while they were willing, nay, anxious, to conciliate this old woman, they had not the slightest idea of admitting anything that could be considered as a reflection on the course adopted by their parents. “You see, Jim, it has got to be done some time, and we may as well get it over now,” said Norine, one evening, as they sat by the fire. “So suppose we just sit down and write a simple letter of invitation, and say nothing at all about the old misery?” “Well, Norry,” replied Jim, “you sit down and write your simple letter of invitation, and if it proves satisfactory, I will mail it for you, and you can have all the honor.” “Yes, and all the work and worry, too, you lazy thing,” pouted Norine. “But I will write it,” she said, stamping her little foot energetically, “if it is only to get it done.” And she made a great show of setting out writing materials, knitting her brows meanwhile with a vast assumption of importance. “Jim,” she said, after she had sat and stared at the lamp for a few minutes, “would you call her your dear aunt?” “No,” said Jim, “I think not.” “Why, Jim?” “Because,” said Jim, “I should consider it presumptuous to use terms of endearment in addressing a total stranger.” “Now, Jim,” said Norine coaxingly, “how would you address her?” “How would ‘Aunt Darling’ do?” suggested Jim. “‘Dear Aunt Darling,’” corrected Norine; “that will do, Jim. Now, what next?”