has shut up the sherry in the sideboard. Is it fair or right that Aunt
Agatha and Uncle Keith should forego their little comforts just because
an idle girl is on their hands?"

I pondered this question heavily before I summoned courage to speak to
Aunt Agatha. To my surprise she listened to me very quietly, though her
soft brown eyes grew a little misty--I did so love Aunt Agatha's eyes.

"Dear," she said, very gently, "I wish this could have been prevented;
but, for my husband's sake, I dare not throw cold water on your plan. I
cannot deny that he has had a heavy loss, and that we have to be very
careful. I would keep you with me if I could, Merle, for you are just
like my own child, but Ezra is not young;" and here Aunt Agatha's
forehead grew puckered with anxiety.

"Oh, Aunt Agatha," I exclaimed, quite forgetting the gravity of my
proposition in sudden, childish annoyance, "how can you call Uncle
Keith, Ezra? It is such a hideous name."

"Not to my ears," she answered, quite calmly; "a wife never thinks her
husband's name hideous. He loves to hear me say it, and I love to please
him, for though you may not believe it, Merle, I think there are very
few men to compare with your uncle."

She could actually say this to my face, looking at me all the time with
those honest eyes! I could not forbear a little shrug at this, but she
turned the subject, placidly, but with much dignity.

"I have been a working bee all my life, and have been quite contented
with my lot; if you could only follow my example, I should be perfectly