"You--a grouch? Oh, Uncle Martin!" Her merry, infectious laugh
left no doubt of how ridiculous such a notion seemed.

"Oh, yes; I am."

"Nonsense. You'll have to prove it to me."

"Ask your aunt or Bill; they'll tell you." The acrimony in his
tone did not escape her.

"Then they'll have to prove it to me," she corrected, her gaiety
now a trifle forced. Aunt Rose never had appreciated him, was her
quick thought. Even as a child she had sensed that.

"How are they?" she added quickly. "Bill must be a great boy by
this time."

"Only a few inches shorter than I am," Martin answered
indifferently. "He's one of the kind who get their growth
early--by the time he's fifteen he'll be six feet."

"I'm crazy to see them."

"Well, there's your aunt now," he resumed drily as they drew up
before the little house that contrasted so conspicuously with the
fine brick silos and imposing barns. Gleaming with windows, they
loomed out of the twilight, reminding one, in their slate-colored
paint, of magnificent battleships.

The bright glare of the auto picked Mrs. Wade out for them as