back to the old subject. Fleda made another great effort at a
diversion.

"Grandpa, was my father like my uncle Rossitur in anything?"

The diversion was effected.

"Not he, dear!" said Mr. Ringgan. "Your father had ten times
the man in him that ever your uncle was."

"Why, what kind of a man is uncle Rossitur, grandpa?"

"Ho dear! I can't tell. I ha'n't seen much of him. I wouldn't
judge a man without knowing more of him than I do of Mr.
Rossitur. He seemed an amiable kind of man. But no one would
ever have thought of looking at him, no more than at a shadow,
when your father was by."

The diversion took effect on Fleda herself now. She looked up
pleased.

"You remember your father, Fleda."

"Yes, grandpa, but not very well always. I remember a great
many things about him, but I can't remember exactly how he
looked, except once or twice."

"Ay, and he wa'n't well the last time you remember him. But he
was a noble-looking man — in form and face too — and his looks
were the worst part of him. He seemed made of different stuff