lives, come more home to their hearts, filling them with aspiration
as well as memory.

Then Lance helped his brother up, and was surprised, after those
cheerful tones, to feel the weight so prone and feeble, that Gerald's
support on the other side was welcome. Mrs. Grinstead followed to
take Gertrude to her room and find her children's photographs.

The two young people began to smile as soon as they were left alone.

"Did you ever see Bexley?" asked Anna.

"Yes-—an awful hole," and both indulged in a merry laugh.

"My mother mentions it with pious horror," said Anna.

"Life is much more interesting when it is from hand to mouth," said
Gerald, with a yawn. "If I went in for sentiment, which I don't, it
would be for Fiddler's Ranch; though it is now a great city called
Violinia, with everything like everything else everywhere."

"Not Uncle Lance."

"Certainly not. For a man with that splendid talent to bury it
behind a counter, mitigated by a common church organ, is as
remarkable as absurd; though he seems to thrive on it. It is a treat
to see such innocent rapture, all genuine too!"

"You worn-out old man!" laughed Anna. "Aunt Cherry has always said
that self-abnegation is the secret of Uncle Lance's charm."