“Is he really your uncle, mum?” asked Nancy.
Mrs. Ross wished she could deny it, but felt that she would be found out in falsehood.
“Yes, Nancy, I confess that he is. There is a black sheep in every family, and poor Uncle Obed was the black sheep in ours.”
“You don’t say so, mum! He seems harmless enough.”
“Oh, yes. There’s no harm in him; but he’s so rustic. Poor grandpa tried to polish him by sending him to expensive schools, but it was no use. He took no interest in books, and wouldn’t go to college”—Uncle Obed would have opened his eyes if he had heard this—“and so grandpa bought him a farm, and set him up in business as a farmer. He was rather shiftless, and preferred the company of his farm laborers to going into the fashionable society the rest of the family moved in; and so all his life he has been nothing but a rough, unrefined farmer.”
“What a pity, mum.”
“Yes, it is a pity, but I suppose it was in him. Of course, it is very mortifying to me to have him come here—so different as he is from the rest of us. I am sure you can understand that, Nancy.”
“Oh, yes, mum.”
“He won’t feel at home among us, and I think I shall ask Colonel Ross to pay his fare back to Illinois, and give him a pension, if he really needs it. I dare say he has lost his farm, and is destitute, for he never knew how to take care of money.”
“That would be very kind of you and the colonel, mum,” said Nancy, who didn’t believe half her mistress was saying, but thought it might be for her interest to pretend she did.