“Thank you! you’re a good boy,” and the old man began to fumble in his pocket.
“Oh, no. I can’t take anything,” said Harry hurriedly.
Even if the old man had been rich, he would have declined compensation—much more when he looked very poor.
“Well, well! I’m much obliged to you, all the same.”
Leaving Harry to find his way home, let us see what sort of reception the old man had from his niece.
Within five minutes Mrs. Ross sailed into the room.
“Why, Lucinda!” said the old man, heartily; “it’s a long time since I met you.”
“I do not remember ever having seen you,” said Mrs. Ross, frigidly.
“I haven’t seen you since you were a little girl, for I’ve been living away out in Illinoy. I’m your Uncle Obed—Obed Wilkins—brother of your mother.”
“Indeed!” said Mrs. Ross, coldly, eyeing the old man’s shabby attire with something like disdain. “You must be an old man!”