Hetty, the maid, came into the garden looking worried. She did not stand on the steps and yell, as was customary, as though daring me to disobey her. She caught up her skirts with a dignified air and spoke my name softly, employing the honeyed tones with which she enticed our milkman every morning. I perceived at once that something momentous had occurred, and came out from behind the bushes. Then I saw the reason for her sudden change of manners--the purple mustached stranger was watching us from behind the curtains of my father’s study-window. I was most agreeably and unpresentably grubby. Hetty was distressed at my appearance; I knew she was by the way she kept hurting my hand and muttering to me to hide behind her. When we got inside the house she became voluble, but only in whispers. “Now, Master Dante, I can’t ’elp it if the soap do get into your mouth. You’ve got to be a clean boy fer once in yer h’existence. It may mean h’everythin’. That gent’s some relation o’ yourn. ’E’s goin’ to take you away wiv him, an’ he may ’ave money. I shall ’ate to lose yer. Now let’s look at yer neck.” She scrubbed away at my face till it was scarlet; she let the water from the flannel trickle down my back. I was too awe-inspired to wriggle; by some occult power the dreadful personage downstairs might learn about it. Having been pitched into my Sunday sailor-suit and squeezed into a pair of new boots and prickly stockings, I was bundled into the august presence. When I entered he was straddling the fire-place carpet--the one which ought to have been magic--and waggling his coat-tails with his hands. My father rose from his chair. “This is your great-uncle, Obadiah Spreckles. Come and be introduced, Dante.” Up to now I had never heard of such a relative, but I came timidly forward and shook hands. “A fine little fellow. A very fine little fellow, and the image of his mother,” said my great-uncle. My father winced at the mention of my mother. My great-uncle spread his legs still wider and addressed me in a jerky important manner. “Got a lot of dogs and cats. Got a goat and a cow. Got some hens. Got up early this morning. Saw the sun shining. Thought you might like to take a look at ’em, young man.” Turning to my father, “Well, Cardover, I must be going. I’ll take good care of him and all that. I’m very busy--hardly a moment to spare.” Before I knew what had happened, I had said good-bye to my father and was standing in the lane alone with my strange uncle. When the door had banged and he knew that no grownup could see him, he changed his manner. His hurry left him. Placing his hands on my shoulders, he looked down into my face, laughing. “Now for a good time, old chap.” At the end of the lane, where the posts blocked the passage, stood a little dog-cart and pony. My bag was stowed under the seat; at a click of the tongue from my uncle, the little beast started up like the wind.