“ Niece Ruth,” he said, hesitating and fumbling at his belt, “be you goin' to get merried?”
“ I hope so, Uncle,” she replied kindly.
“ Then—then—I wish you'd take this and buy you sunthin' to remember your pore old Uncle James by.” He thrust a trembling hand toward her, and offered her a twenty dollar bill.
“ Why, Uncle!” she exclaimed. “I mustn't take this! Thank you ever so much, but it isn't right!”
“ I'd be pleased,” he said plaintively. “'Taint as if I wan's accustomed to money. My store was wuth five or six hundred dollars, and you've been real pleasant to me, Niece Ruth. Buy a hair wreath for the parlour, or sunthin' to remind you of your pore old Uncle.”
Winfield pressed her arm warningly, and she tucked the bill into her chatelaine bag. “Thank you, Uncle!” she said; then
