forlornly thought of inventing some innocent details to fill out his
imperfect and unsatisfactory recollection. But, glancing up, he was
surprised to find that his elderly cousin was as embarrassed as he was,
Flynn, as usual, masterfully interposed.

"Of course ye don't remember each other, and thar ain't much that either
of you knows about family matters, I reckon," he said grimly; "and as
your cousin calls himself Don Juan Robinson," he added to Clarence,
"it's just as well that you let 'Jackson Brant' slide. I know him better
than you, but you'll get used to him, and he to you, soon enough. At
least, you'd better," he concluded, with his singular gravity.

As he turned as if to leave the room with Clarence's embarrassed
relative--much to that gentleman's apparent relief--the boy looked up at
the latter and said timidly--

"May I look at those books?"

His cousin stopped, and glanced at him with the first expression of
interest he had shown.

"Ah, you read; you like books?"

"Yes," said Clarence. As his cousin remained still looking at him
thoughtfully, he added, "My hands are pretty clean, but I can wash them
first, if you like."

"You may look at them," said Don Juan smilingly; "and as they are
old books you can wash your hands afterwards." And, turning to Flynn
suddenly, with an air of relief, "I tell you what I'll do--I'll teach