sugar in his hand, I was convinced that
he had spoken the truth.

"Aunt Ellen certainly is a dear," he
went on. "I run down to see her every
time I get a chance. Same old rain-
barrel! Same old beehives! Same old
well-sweep! Wouldn't trade them for
any others in the world. I like every-
thing about the place -- like the 'Old
Man' that grows by the gate; and the
tomato trellis -- nobody else treats to-
matoes like flowers; and the herb gar-
den, and the cupboard with the little
wood-carvings in it that Uncle Ben
made. You remember Uncle Ben?
Been a sailor -- broke both legs -- had
'em cut off -- and sat around and carved
while Aunt Ellen taught school. Happy
they were -- no one happier. Brought
me up, you know. Didn't have a father
or mother -- just gathered me in. Good
sort, those. Uncle Ben's gone, but
Aunt Ellen's a mother to me yet.
Thinks of me, travelling, travelling,
never putting my head down in the same
bed two nights running; and here and
there and everywhere she overtakes me
with little scraps out of home. That's
Aunt Ellen for you!"