It was a severe blow to Philip, especially in Harry’s presence, to be claimed as a kinsman by a shabby, old tramp. It was upon his tongue to express a doubt as to the relationship, but he forbore. “Is your mother at home?” asked the old man. “You can ring the bell and see,” answered Philip, deliberately turning his back and walking off. The old man looked after him, with a shrewd glance of intelligence, but expressed no opinion of him. “Harry,” he said, turning to his young guide, “will you come with me to the door and ring the bell?” Harry complied with his request. The door was opened by a servant, who, on seeing the old man, said, pertly: “We’ve got nothing for the likes of you,” and was about to close the door on the two. “Stop!” said Harry, in a commanding voice, for he was provoked with the girl’s ill manners. “Tell Mrs. Ross that her uncle is here. I think you’d better invite him in.” “Well, I never!” said the girl, abashed. “I hope you’ll excuse me, sir. Walk into the parlor, and I’ll tell Mrs. Ross you are here.” “Won’t you come in, Harry?” asked the old man, who seemed to have taken a liking to his young guide. “No, thank you, sir. I shall see you again, if you are going to stay in the village.” “Thank you! you’re a good boy,” and the old man began to fumble in his pocket. “Oh, no. I can’t take anything,” said Harry hurriedly. Even if the old man had been rich, he would have declined compensation—much more when he looked very poor. “Well, well! I’m much obliged to you, all the same.” Leaving Harry to find his way home, let us see what sort of reception the old man had from his niece. Within five minutes Mrs. Ross sailed into the room. “Why, Lucinda!” said the old man, heartily; “it’s a long time since I met you.” “I do not remember ever having seen you,” said Mrs. Ross, frigidly. “I haven’t seen you since you were a little girl, for I’ve been living away out in Illinoy. I’m your Uncle Obed—Obed Wilkins—brother of your mother.” “Indeed!” said Mrs. Ross, coldly, eyeing the old man’s shabby attire with something like disdain. “You must be an old man!” “Seventy-two, Lucinda. I was born in October, while your mother was two years younger than I, and born in August. I didn’t think to outlive her, seeing she was younger, but I have.” “I think it was imprudent in a man of your age coming so far,” said Mrs. Ross. “I was all alone, Lucinda. My daughter died last spring, and I wanted to be near some one that was akin to me, so I’ve come to see the only relations I’ve got left on earth.” “That’s very cool,” thought Mrs. Ross. “He expects us to support him, I suppose. He looks as poor as poverty. He ought to have gone to the poorhouse in his old home.” To be sure, she would not like to have had it known that she had an uncle in the poorhouse; but, so far away as Illinois, it would not have been known to any of her Eastern friends, and wouldn’t matter so much.