old lady Hargrove, and her two hundred-weight."

"Oh, has Cousin James really lost all of his fortune?" I asked, and I
was surprised at the amount of sympathetic dismay that rose in me at the
information.

"Everything but what he carries around under that old gray hat of
his--not so bad a fortune, at that!--hey?"

I feel I am going to love Uncle Peter for the way he disdainfully
admires Cousin James.

"And--and all of his--his guests are really dependent on him?" I asked
again, as the stupendous fact filtered into my mind.

"All the flock, all the flock," answered Uncle Peter, with what seemed,
under the circumstances, a heartless chuckle. "They each one have little
dabs of property, about as big as a handful of chicken feed, and as they
have each one given it all to James to manage, they expect an income in
return--and get it--all they ask for. A lot of useless old live
stock--all but Sallie, and she's worse--worse, hey?"

I agreed with his question--but I didn't say so.

"Glad your money is safe in Public Town Bonds and City Securities,
Evelina. If James could, he might lose it, and you'd have to move over.
It would then be nip and tuck between you and Sallie which got
James--nip and tuck--hey?"

"Oh, Uncle Peter!" I exclaimed with positive horror that was flavored