"You're laughing at me," she said, reproachfully.

"No, I wa'n't laughing, so to speak," returned Uncle William. "I was
thinkin' what a sight o' comfort there is in a bunnit. If men folks wore
'em I reckon they'd take life easier." He placed his hat firmly on the
gray tufts. "That's one o' the cur'us things--about 'em." They were
going down the long flight of stairs and he had placed his hand
protectingly beneath her arm. "That's one o' the cur'us things--how
different they be, men and women. I've thought about it a good many
times, how it must 'a' tickled the Lord a good deal when he found how
different they turned out--made o' the same kind o' stuff, so."

"Don't you suppose he meant it?" She was smiling under the frilling
lace.

"Well, like enough," returned Uncle William, thoughtfully. "It's like
the rest o' the world--kind o' comical and big. Like enough he did plan
it that way."




XVII

The room was filled with the hum of light--faces and flowers and color
everywhere. Uncle William walked among them erect, overtopping the
crowd, his gaze, for the most part, on the sky-line. Sergia, beside him,
seemed a slight figure. Glances followed them as they went, amused or
curious or a little admiring. Uncle William, oblivious to the glances
and to the crowd that opened before him, and closed silently behind the