"Happy to see you, my dear fellow!" he said. "I should have known you
wherever I met you. You look like the old boy you were."

"So I do, because of my clean-shaven face, uncle. I do not care for the
manly beauty of a moustache and beard. But I must return your
compliment. You have not aged in the least, and I can hardly believe in
your wanting a physician at all. You do not look like it."

He chuckled. "Well, well, I don't think you are much mistaken; but sit
down here in the bower: my room is not quite so pleasant and orderly a
place. I must call the gardener--"

"Don't take the least trouble, uncle," I said. "I shall not stay with
you, as I ordered a room at the inn and also my dinner. I had a hearty
lunch half an hour ago, and so you need not worry about my comfort. Now
tell me what ails you, pray, and then I'll see what I can do for you."

"Nothing in the least with regard to my health, for I am not a bit worse
than I was ten years ago, and far better than most others at my age. I
am ninety-seven, as you know, and that's no trifle. It would be foolish
to expect anything better, and you could not prevent my dying about this
time next year."

"Oh! you are hypochondriac, I see, and give way to fancies! Come in, and
let me examine you professionally, for such fancies are always the
result of some serious disorder."

"There you are mistaken, my boy. My heart, lungs, liver, and the rest of
it are all right, and I am not melancholy. Neither am I weak-minded or