"But," said the girl simply, "Thinkright says if I'll only keep remembering that I haven't any relations except God, and His children, I shan't find anybody to hate."
The judge's eyes snapped. "H'm. I hope there's something in that. I hope there is. I've never paid much attention to Thinkright's little pilgrimages among his rose-colored clouds, but perhaps it might be to my advantage to do so; perhaps it might. The fact is, girl,—I'm sorry to confess it because I know it will be unwelcome news, but—I'm your Uncle Calvin."
Sylvia grasped the side of the boat, grew pale, and stared. "Oh, no!" she exclaimed. "He has a full beard. He has a round face."
"Once upon a time, as the story books say, he had."
The girl's eyes closed and her lips compressed.
"Sylvia, remember the Tide Mill." The judge's voice was rough with feeling. "Your eyes look like its shuttered windows. I'm not a monster. I'm only a human machine that didn't know how to stop grinding. I've come up here to tell you so. I thought our introductions were better made away from the family, and I expected to find you walking in the woods."
Sylvia opened her eyes again, widely, apprehensively. "Is Aunt Martha here, too?"
"No. I thought one of us would be sufficient. I saw Miss Derwent in Boston recently. She gave me news of you."
"Uncle Calvin," began the girl in a low, uneven voice, "I have said very uncivil things. Why did you deceive me?"
"I had no idea at first that you were my niece. I looked for some one totally different."