"I never heard you speak of them before," she said, still
unconvinced.

Good reason, too, for up to this awful moment I never had an Aunt
Eliza or a cousin Julia, but relatives must be found to fit the
emergency.

"Oh, you've forgotten, my dear," I said, soothingly. "Aunt Eliza
and Julia are two of the best Aunts I ever had--er, I mean Aunt
Eliza is the best cousin--well, let it go at that! Bunch may have
met them on the street, you see, and they inquired for my address.
Yes, that's it. Dear, old Aunt Eliza!"

"Is she very old?" Clara J. asked, willing to be convinced if I
could deliver the goods.

"Old," I echoed, then suddenly remembering Bunch's description;
"oh, no; she's a young widow, about 28 or 41, somewhere along in
there. You'll like her immensely, but I hope she doesn't come out
until we get settled in a year or two."

Clara J. dried her eyes, but I could see that she hadn't restored
me to her confidence as a member in good standing.

She pleaded a headache and went away to her room, while I sat down
with Bunch's telegram in my hands and tried to find even a cowpath
through the woods.

Uncle Peter came out, none the worse for his cold plunge, and sat
down near me.