the old man uncle. Their amazement rose to positive incredulity when they heard that the fastidious, finical old bachelor had actually installed a raw freshman in one of his precious tower-rooms, always before inexorably guarded from the mildest and most passing intrusion on their hallowed quiet.
The president made all haste to call on J. M. and see the phenomenon with his own eyes. As discreetly as his raging curiosity would allow him, he fell to questioning the former recluse. When he learned that J. M. had spent six weeks in Woodville, no more explanation seemed needed. "Oh, of course, your old home?"
"Yes," said J. M., "my old home."
"And you had a warm welcome there, I dare say?"
"Yes, indeed," said J. M.
"Found the old town in good condition?"
"Excellent!" this with emphasis.
The president saw it all, explaining it competently to himself. "Yes, yes, I see it from here—vacation spent in renewing your youth playing with the children—promised to go back at Christmas, I suppose."
"Oh, yes, of course," said J. M.
"Children cried when you came away, and gave you dotty little things they'd made themselves?"
"Just like that," with a reminiscent smile.
"Well, well," the president got to his feet. "Of course, most natural thing in the world to take an interest in your brothers and sisters children."
J. M. did not contradict the president. He never contradicted the presidents. He outlasted them so consistently that it was not necessary. This time he took off his glasses and rubbed them on an awkwardly fashioned
