"Don't you believe me?"

"I--I ain't got but one niece in the world," mumbled Cap'n Abe.
"An'--an' I never expected to see _her_."

"Louise Grayling, daughter of Professor Ernest Grayling and Miriam
Card--your half-sister's child. See here--and here." She snapped open
her bag, resting it on the counter, and produced an old-fashioned
photograph of her mother, a letter, yellowed by time, that Cap'n Abe had
written Professor Grayling long before, and her own accident policy
identification card which she always carried.

Cap'n Abe stretched forth a hairy hand, and it closed on Lou's as a
sunfish absorbs its prey. The girl's hand to her wrist was completely
lost in the grip; but despite its firmness Cap'n Abe's handclasp was by
no means painful. He released her and, leaning back, smiled benignly.

"Land sakes!" he said again. "I'm glad to see little Mirry's girl. An'
you do favor her a mite. But I guess you take mostly after the
Graylings."

"People say I am like my father."

"An' a mighty nice lookin' man--an' a pleasant--as I remember him," Cap'n
Abe declared.

"Come right in here, into my sittin'-room, Niece Louise, an' lemme take a
look at you. Land sakes!"