"It is rather a long story, aunt. I will tell you by and by. But now tell me about yourself. Of what did my uncle die?"
"He exposed himself imprudently in a storm one evening three months since," said Mrs. Berry. "In consequence of this, he took a severe cold, which finally terminated in a fever. We did not at first suppose him to be in any danger, but he gradually became worse, and a week since he died. It is a terrible loss to me and my poor children."
Here his aunt put her handkerchief to her face to wipe away the tears that started at the thought of her bereavement.
"Dear aunt, I sympathize with you," said John, earnestly, taking her hand.
"I know you do, John," said his aunt. "I don't know how I can get along alone, with four poor fatherless children to look after."
"God will help you, aunt. You must look to him," said John, reverently.
"It is that thought alone that sustains me," said Mrs. Berry. "But sometimes, when the thought of my bereavement comes upon me, I don't realize it as I should."
"I went into the store first," said John. "I suppose it was my uncle's assistant that I saw there?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Berry; "it was Mr. Hall."
"I suppose he manages the store now for you?"