“It will be my great pleasure,” rejoined the guest, “not only on your own account, but because your personality reminds me of that of my departed friend. You favour him considerably, more particularly in the eyes, if I may be permitted to allude to details. I think I told you, did I not, that he was my Colonel and I was privileged to serve under him in the war? My—oh, I walked, did I not? I remember that it was my intention to come in a carriage, as being more suitable to a formal visit, but Mr. Blake had other engagements for his vehicle. Dear sir and madam, I bid you good afternoon.”
So saying, he went downhill, briskly enough, yet stumbling where the way was rough. They watched him until the bobbing, bell-shaped crown of the ancient head-gear was completely out of sight.
“What a dear old man!” said Dorothy. “He’s lonely and we must have him come up often.”
“Do you think,” asked Harlan, “that I look like Uncle Ebeneezer?”
“Indeed you don’t!” cried Dorothy, “and that reminds me. I want to take that picture down.”
“To burn it?” inquired Harlan, slyly.
“No, I wouldn’t burn it,” answered Dorothy, somewhat spitefully, “but there’s no law against putting it in the attic, is there?”
“Not that I know of. Can we reach it from a chair?”
Together they mounted one of the haircloth monuments, slipping, as Dorothy said, until it was like walking on ice.
“Now then,” said Harlan, gaily, “come on down, Uncle! You’re about to be moved into the attic!”