"O, wal, I believe he is the minister, come to think on't. He's a boy o' mine, though. Where does he live?"
"In that white house that you see set back from the road there, with all those trees round it."
At this instant a tall, manly-looking person approached from behind. Have we not seen that face before? It is a touch graver than of old, and its lines have a more thoughtful significance; but all the vivacity of James Benton sparkles in that quick smile as his eye falls on the old man.
"I thought you could not keep away from us long," said he, with the prompt cheerfulness of his boyhood, and laying hold of both of Uncle Lot's hard hands.
They approached the gate; a bright face glances past the window, and in a moment Grace is at the door.
"Father! dear father!"
"You'd better make believe be so glad," said Uncle Lot, his eyes glistening as he spoke.
"Come, come, father, I have authority in these days," said Grace, drawing him towards the house; "so no disrespectful speeches; away with your hat and coat, and sit down in this great chair."
"So, ho! Miss Grace," said Uncle Lot, "you are at your old tricks, ordering round as usual. Well, if I must, I must;" so down he sat.
"Father," said Grace, as he was leaving them, after a few days' stay, "it's Thanksgiving day next month, and you and mother must come and stay with us."