As Uncle Sylvester paused here, Cousin Jane broke in impatiently. "Well,
that's not an uncommon name. There was an old carpenter here in your
father's time who was called Flint."

"Yes," said Uncle Sylvester languidly. "But there is, or was, something
uncommon about it--and that's the point of the story, for in the old
time Flint and Gunn were of the same stock."

"Is this a Californian joke?" said Gunn, with a forced smile on his
flushed face. "If so, spare me, for it's an old one."

"It's much older HISTORY, Mr. Gunn," said Uncle Sylvester blandly,
"which I remember from a boy. When the first Flint traded near Sault
Sainte Marie, the Canadian voyageurs literally translated his name into
Pierre a Fusil, and he went by that name always. But when the English
superseded the French in numbers and language the name was literally
translated back again into 'Peter Gunn,' which his descendants bear."

"A labored form of the old joke," said Gunn, turning contemptuously
away.

"But the story," said Cousins Jane and Emma. "The story of the gold
discovery--never mind the names."

"Excuse me," said Uncle Sylvester, placing his hand in the breast of his
coat with a delightful exaggeration of offended dignity. "But, doubts
having been cast upon my preliminary statement, I fear I must decline
proceeding further." Nevertheless, he smiled unblushingly at Miss Du
Page as he followed Gunn from the room.