As they drew near their destination, a quaint little figure could be seen standing at the gate in the shade of a maple tree, whose leaves of mingled green and scarlet, just touched by the September frosts, made a brilliant contrast to the sober hue of her dress.
"There she is! our dear old auntie!" cried Elsie with eager delight, that brought a flush of pleasure to Harry's face.
Miss Stanhope's greetings were characteristic. "Elsie! my darling! I have you again after all these years! Mrs. Vanilla too! how kind! but you tell me your face is always that. Horace, nephew, this is good of you! And Mr. Torville, I'm as glad as the rest to see you. Come in, come in, all of you, and make yourselves at home."
"Does Mrs. Schilling still live opposite to you, Aunt Wealthy?" asked Elsie as they sat about the tea-table an hour later.
"Yes, dearie; though she's lost all commercial value," laughed the old lady; "she's taken a second wife at last; not Mr. Was though, but a newcomer, Mr. Smearer."
"Dauber, auntie," corrected Harry, gravely.
"Well, well, child, the meaning's about the same," returned Miss Stanhope, laughing afresh at her own mistake, "and I'd as soon be the other as one."
"Mrs. Dauber wouldn't though," said Harry. "I noticed her face grow as red as a beet the other day when you called her Mrs. Smearer."
"She didn't mind being Mrs. Sixpence, I think," said Elsie.
"Oh yes, she did; it nettled her a good deal at first, but she finally got used to it; after finding out how innocent auntie was, and how apt to miscall other names."