Lord Canning recommenced his study of the register.
"Mrs. Horatio Stillwater," he read. "Stillwater, Indiana. Miss Indiana Stillwater." He reflected a moment. "Miss Indiana Stillwater, Stillwater, Indiana. Here too, is a similarity of names. Probably a coincidence and probably not." He read on, "Mrs. Chazy Bunker, Stillwater, Indiana. Bunker, Bunker!" He pressed his hand to his forehead. "Oh, Bunker Hill," he thought, with sudden inspiration.
"Miss Indiana Stillwater, Stillwater, Indiana. If the town was named after the father, why should not the State—no, that could not be. But the reverse might be possible." He addressed the clerk.
"Would you mind telling me—oh, I beg your pardon," seeing that the clerk was very much occupied at that moment—"It doesn't matter—some other time." He turned and lounged easily against the desk, surveying the people walking about, with the intentness of a person new to his surroundings, and still pondering the question.
* * * * *
"Now," said Stillwater, after his family had been duly installed, "let me look at you. I'm mighty glad to see you all again." He swung his daughter Indiana up in his arms and kissed her, then set her on his knee and looked at her with open admiration.
Mr. Horatio Stillwater had never seen any reason why he should be ashamed of his great pride in his only child. Indiana herself had often been heard to remark, "Pa has never really recovered from the shock of my birth. It was a case of too much joy. He thinks I'm the greatest thing on record."
"Well, folks," he said, "I expect you're all dead tired."
"Not I," said Mrs. Bunker, his mother-in-law. She was a well-formed woman, with dark, vivacious eyes and a crown of white hair dressed in the latest mode. "I could take the trip all over again."
"Did you miss us, father?" asked Mrs. Stillwater, a gentle-looking, pretty woman, with soft, brown hair and dark blue eyes like her child's, only Indiana's were more alert and restless. "Ma has lovely eyes," Indiana was in the habit of remarking. "She takes them from me."