"Nephew," he sobbed, shaking the hand that he still grasped, "you're welcome to the Old Homestead. Neighbors," he added with dignity, "suppose you make out the evening with blind-man's-buff, or Who's-got-the-button? This is my own nephew, that I haven't seen since he was a baby. You won't expect him to play any more to-night; he's tired out; and I"-- The old man's lips began to tremble, and tears came again to his eyes, and coursed rapidly after those that had fallen. He shook his head; tried to go on without success; and taking Joseph by the hand led him toward the door. "Stop, just one minute, now, till I've done a little chance of business," cried the constable, creeping out from a corner of the barn, where the husked ears had been piled, and planting himself, like a pert exclamation point, before the old man. "I've got to make a levy on this corn heap," he said; "the oxen out yonder, and sundry other goods and chattels about the Old Homestead. I want to do everything fair and above board, so just wait to see the law executed." Uncle Nathan paused, half wondering, half shocked at the man's words. "What! the corn that my kind neighbors have just husked? the oxen I brought up from steers? who has a right to take them?" "There's the writ. All correct you'll find. Madam Farnham claims a right to her own, and I'm here to see that she gets it." "Madam Farnham, my mother!" cried young Farnham, indignantly. "Knave, you slander my mother." "You'll find it there," said the little constable, dashing the back of his dirty hand against the open writ. "Your mother, if she is your mother, authorized me to buy up all claims agin uncle Nat here and aunt Hannah, six months ago; and I've done it. Five hundred and ten dollars with costs." "Come with me," answered the young man, sternly. "Isabel, go to the house with Salina. I will return." He took the constable by the arm and led him out, followed by hoots and cheers from the young farmers. Uncle Nathan stood for a moment, dumb with amazement; then he drew a deep breath and grasped his nephew's hand more firmly. "It seems as if the Old Homestead was falling around us," he said, "but so long as a shingle is left, it shall shelter my sister Anna's son." And he led the young man forth into the starlight. CHAPTER XLIV. THE MOTHER, THE SON, AND THE ORPHAN Age is august, and goodness is sublime, When years have given them a solemn power. But souls that grow not with advancing time, Like withered fruit, but mock life's opening flower. "Mother!" "My son, don't speak so loud; you quite make me start; and with these delicate nerves you know a shock is quite dreadful--why don't you say mamma, softly, with the pure French pronunciation, and an Italian tone; that's the proper medium, Fred. 'Mother!' I did hope, after travelling so many years, that you would have forgotten the word."