with him during dinner; and being naturally shy, and moreover, on this
occasion, in the middle of a very interesting book, at once timid and
indifferent, I slipped away from the table the moment that I could. But
upon the third or fourth occasion of his being there, I became
interested, finding often a pair of handsome eyes fixed on me, and being
occasionally addressed and made a partner in the conversation. Uncle
Leonard very rarely talked to me, and I think found me in the way when
Richard Vandermarck made the talk extend to me.

But this was the beginning of a very much improved era for me. I lost my
shyness, and my fear of Uncle Leonard, and indeed, I think, my frantic
thirst for books, and became quite a young lady. We were great friends;
he brought me books, he told me about other people, he opened a thousand
doors of interest and pleasure to me. I never can enumerate all I owed
to him. My dull life was changed, and the house owed him gratitude.

We began to have the gas lighted in the parlor, and even Uncle Leonard
came in there sometimes and sat after dinner, before he went up into
that dreary library above. I think he rather enjoyed hearing us talk
gayly across his sombre board; he certainly became softer and more human
toward me after Richard came to be so constantly a guest. He gave me
more money to spend, (that was always the expression of his feelings,
his language, so to speak;) he made various inquiries and improvements
about the house. The dinners themselves were improved, for a horrible
monotony had crept into the soups and sauces of forty years; and Uncle
Leonard was no epicure; he seemed to have no more stomach than he had
heart; brain and pocket made the man.

I think unconsciously he was much influenced by Richard, whose business
talent had charmed him, and to whom he looked for much that he knew he