him. He seemed as dim and glum as the day outside, and that was dreary beyond anything the little Californian had ever seen. The snow had fallen steadily all the night, and the avenue was almost impassable. A few milk-carts forced their way along, and a man in a gray uniform, with a leather bag over his shoulder, was wading up each flight of steps to the doorways above them and handing in the morning mail.
"Aren't you well, Uncle Joe? Didn't you rest well?" she inquired solicitously.
"No, I've got that wretched old gout again," he snapped.
"What's that?"
"It's a horrible, useless, nerve-racking 'misery' in my foot. It's being out in that storm yesterday, and this senseless heap of snow on the ground. March is supposed to be spring, but this beastly climate doesn't know what spring means. Ugh!" he groaned.
"Doesn't it?" she asked, amazed by this statement.
"Hum, child. There's no need of your re-
