The artist looked him over admiringly. "You're great!" he said. "How did
you come to know enough not to change?"

"I've changed everything!" declared Uncle William. His air of pride
drooped a little.

The artist laughed out. "I mean you kept your same kind of clothes. A
good many people, when they come down here to New York, try to dress
like other folks--get new things."

Uncle William's face cleared. He looked down his great bulk with a
smile. "I like my own things," he said. "I feel to home in 'em."




XIII

Uncle William found the door of the studio, and bent to examine the card
tacked on the panel. "Sergia Lvova, Teacher of Piano and Violin."

He knocked gently.

"Come in." The call came clear and straight.

Uncle William opened the door.

A girl sat at a table across the room, her eyes protected by a green
shade from the lamp that burned near and threw its light on the page she