I think Aunt Agnes must have scented danger ahead. In any case she suddenly gave the conversation a mighty jerk in another direction. "Oh, by the way, Henry," she began, as if it had everything to do with the race question, "have you any idea what happened the elder from Pollocksville?"
If uncle felt any surprise at the rather violent digression he concealed it remarkably well. "Yes," he answered calmly. "Mr. Furvell got word about him at the last minute. It seems he has thirteen children, and one got lost—you'd think he had enough left, wouldn't you? But he got in quite a fuss about it, and that's why he wasn't able to get away. So we'd have been left without a guest altogether if our friend hadn't happened along," and my uncle made a courtly little bow in the direction of Mr. Laird.
"Oh, I see," said the latter, evidently very interested. "I'm an alternative then. Well, I'm here anyhow—and that's the main thing."
"Oh, no, Mr. Laird, there was no alternative about it," broke in my aunt, "nothing of the sort. If our elder had come you were to go with Dr. Paine to Mrs. Keen's—and then we'd have lost you," smiling very sweetly as she spoke.
"Weel," replied Mr. Laird jocosely, "'it's an ill wind that blaws naebody guid,' as they say in my country. If it hadn't been for that youngster straying away, I wouldn't have been here. So I'm an advocate of large families from this time on."
"So am I," said my Aunt Agnes.
"But there's a matter in connection with the elder we expected," my mother began rather timidly, "and it's something that's troubling us a little."
Mr. Laird looked as if he would like to be enlightened.
"And I may just as well tell you now," went on my mother; "it's about where we were going to put him—and that's where we have to put you."
"That's the worst of it," ejaculated my Aunt Agnes.