After dinner Carlia took Mildred home with her.  It was not far, just around the low ridge which hid the house from view.  There Mildred met Pa Duke, Ma Duke and Will Duke, Carlia’s older brother.  Pa Duke was a hard-working farmer, Ma Duke was likewise a hard-working farmer’s wife, and Will Duke should have been a hard-working farmer’s boy, but he was somewhat a failure, especially regarding the hard work part.  Carlia, though so young, was already a hardworking farmer girl, with no chance of escape, as far as she could see, from the hard-working part.  The Duke house, though clean and roomy, lacked the dainty home touches which mean so much.  There were no porch, no lawn, no trees.  The home was bare inside and out.

In deference to the “company” Carlia was permitted to “visit” with her friend that afternoon.  Apparently, these two girls had very little in common, but when left to themselves they found many mutual interests.

Toward the close of the afternoon, Dorian appeared.  He found the girls out in the yard, Carlia seated on the topmost pole of the corral fence, and Mildred standing beside her.

“Hello girls,” Dorian greeted.  “I’ve come to give you an invitation.”

“What, a party!” exclaimed Carlia, jumping down from her perch.

“Not a dancing party, you little goose—­just a surprise party.”

“On who?”

“On Uncle Zed.”

“Uncle Zed.  O, shucks!”

“Well, of course, you do not have to go,” said Dorian.

“I think you’re mean.  I do want to go if Mildred is going.”

“I don’t know Uncle Zed,” said Mildred, “but if Mrs. Trent and Dorian wish me to go, I shall be pleased; and of course, you will go with us.”

“She’s invited,” repeated Dorian.  “It’s Uncle Zed’s seventy-fifth birthday.  Mother keeps track of them, the only one who does, I guess, for he doesn’t do it himself.  We’re just going down to visit with him this evening.  He’s a very fine old man, is Uncle Zed,” this last to Mildred.

“Is he your uncle?”

“Oh, no; he’s just uncle to everybody and no one in particular.  He’s all by himself, and has no folks?”

Just before the dusk of the evening, the little party set out for the home of Zedekiah Manning, generally and lovingly known as Uncle Zed.  He lived about half a mile down the road in a two-roomed log house which had a big adobe chimney on one side.  His front yard was abloom with the autumn flowers.  The path leading to his door was neatly edged by small cobble stones.  Autumn tinted ivy embowered his front door and climbed over the wall nearly to the low roof.

Uncle Zed met the visitors at the door.  “Well, well,” he exclaimed, “come right in.  I’ll light the lamp.”  Then he assisted them to find seats.

Mildred looked keenly at Uncle Zed, whom she found to be a little frail old man with clean white hair and beard, and kindly, smiling face.  He sat down with his company and rubbed his hands in a way which implied:  “And what does all this mean?” Mildred noted that the wall, back of his own chair, was nearly covered with books, and a number of volumes lay on the table.  The room was furnished for the simple needs of the lone occupant.  A fire smouldered in the open grate.