“Oh, thank you, sir!” said the bigger girl. “We’re much obliged!” “Yes! A knight to the rescue, eh? Do you live on this block, little lady?” he asked, and when he smiled his face was a whole lot pleasanter than it was in repose. “Yes, sir. Right there at Number 80.” “Number 80?” repeated the gentleman, with some interest. “Is there a family in your house named Kenway?” “Oh, yes, sir! _We’re_ the Kenways—two of them,” declared Tess, while Dot was a little inclined to put her finger in her mouth and watch him shyly. “Ha!” exclaimed the stranger. “Two of Leonard Kenway’s daughters? Is your mother at home?” “We—we haven’t any mother—not now, sir,” said Tess, more faintly. “Not living? I had not heard. Then, who is the head of the household?” “Oh, you want to see Ruth,” cried Tess. “She’s the biggest. It must be Ruth you want to see.” “Perhaps you are right,” said the gentleman, eyeing the girls curiously. “If she is the chief of the clan, it is she I must see. I have come to inform her of her Uncle Peter Stower’s death.” CHAPTER II UNCLE PETER’S WILL Tess and Dot were greatly excited. As they climbed up the long and semi-dark flights to the little flat at the top of the house, they clung tightly to each other’s hands and stared, round-eyed, at each other on the landings. Behind them labored the tall, gray gentleman. They could hear him puffing heavily on the last flight. Dot had breath left to burst open the kitchen door and run to tell Ruth of the visitor. “Oh! oh! Ruthie!” gasped the little girl. “There’s a man dead out here and Uncle Peter’s come to tell you all about it!” “Why, Dot Kenway!” cried Tess, as the elder sister turned in amazement at the first wild announcement of the visitor’s coming. “Can’t you get anything straight? It isn’t Uncle Peter who wants to see you, Ruth. Uncle Peter is dead.” “Uncle Peter Stower!” exclaimed Aggie, in awe. He was the Kenway girls’ single wealthy relative. He was considered eccentric. He was—or had been—a bachelor and lived in Milton, an upstate town some distance from Bloomingsburg, and had occupied, almost alone, the old Stower homestead on the corner of Main and Willow Streets—locally known as “the Old Corner House.” “Do take the gentleman to the parlor door,” said Ruth, hastily, hearing the footstep of the visitor at the top of the stairs. “Dot, go unlock that door, dear.” “Aunt Sarah’s sitting in there, Ruth,” whispered Aggie, hastily. “Well, but Aunt Sarah won’t bite him,” said Ruth, hurriedly removing her apron and smoothing her hair. “Just think of Uncle Peter being dead,” repeated Aggie, in a daze. “And he was Aunt Sarah’s half brother, you know. Of course, neither her father nor mother was Uncle Peter’s father or mother—their parents were all married twice. And——” “Oh, don’t!” gasped the plump sister. “We never _can_ figure out the relationship—you know we can’t, Ruth. Really, Aunt Sarah isn’t blood-kin to us at all.”