"Learn to be contented. Folks are miserable otherwise. The Aldens, taking them as a family, were not complainers or grumblers—except Ezra, and how he ever came by it, I do not know. He was never contented. He wouldn't go to school, and he wouldn't farm, and he wouldn't be satisfied anywhere or with anything."
"Ezra? Who was he, Aunt Debby? I never heard you mention his name before."
"He was my oldest brother. He would be a man of sixty if he were living now. I never mentioned him, because he is more of a memory than anything else. He was only sixteen when he ran off west. He wrote a few times. The letters were two or three years apart, and always from different sections. At one time he was on a ranch, another time in the gold fields. He could not be contented long anywhere."
"Where is he now, Aunt Debby?"
"Dead, Hester. Dead long ago. At least we think so. For years, no letters have come from him. When father died, we sent word everywhere, but he never replied. We said then that he was dead."
"If he had lived, I'd have had an uncle. I should like an uncle. From what I've read, they are very jolly."
"You can not always believe what you read," was the sententious rejoinder.
The guests remained at Valehurst three days, during which time neither Mrs. Vail nor Robert appeared, although the latter sent many messages to the girls, through the medium of his cousin or the housekeeper.
Thursday morning, word came from Doctor Weldon that the students must return to school and make ready their belongings to go home. Commencement was not to be considered. The graduates would receive their diplomas, but there could be no festivities.
The students had been taken care of in the country houses which stood on the hills back of Flemington. These were the only places for miles about which had not been flooded. As soon as communication with other places had been made, Doctor Weldon was kept busy sending and receiving telegrams. Each father and mother was distracted when news of the flooding of Lockport came.