“Do you live on Madison Avenue?” asked Mrs. Forbush.
“I am going to and so are you. You must know that I own a furnished house on Madison Avenue. The late occupants sailed for Europe last week, and I was looking out for a tenant when I found you. You will move there to-morrow, and act as house keeper, taking care of Philip and myself. I hope Julia and you will like it as well as your present home.”
“How can I thank you for all your kindness, Uncle Oliver?” said Mrs. Forbush, with joyful tears. “It will be living once more. It will be such a rest from the hard struggle I have had of late years.”
“You can repay me by humoring all my whims,” said Uncle Oliver, smiling. “You will find me very tyrannical. The least infraction of my rules will lead me to send you all packing.”
“Am I to be treated in the same way, Mr. Carter?” asked Philip.
“Exactly.”
“Then, if you discharge me, I will fly for refuge to Mr. Pitkin.”
“That will be 'out of the frying-pan into the fire' with a vengeance.”
By this time they had reached the house. It was an elegant brown-stone front, and proved, on entrance, to be furnished in the most complete and elegant manner. Mr. Carter selected the second floor for his own use; a good-sized room on the third was assigned to Philip, and Mrs. Forbush was told to select such rooms for Julia and herself as she desired.
“This is much finer than Mrs. Pitkin's house,” said Philip.