upon her own family.  Consequently, as we have seen, she set herself at work to atone, as far as possible, for her conduct.  Her husband had given her permission to wait, if she chose, until his return, ere she made the affair public, and as she dreaded the remarks it would necessarily call forth, she resolved to do so.  He had advised her to tell ’Lena, but she was gone—­no one knew whither, and nervously she waited for some tidings of the wanderer.  She was willing to receive ’Lena, but not the grandmother, she was voted an intolerable nuisance, who should never darken the doors of Woodlawn—­never!

Meantime, Mr. Graham had again crossed the ocean, landing in New York, from whence he started for home, meeting, as we have seen, with a detention in Canandaigua, where he accidentally fell in with Uncle Timothy, who, being minus quite a little sum of money on account of his transgression, was lamenting his ill fortune to one of his acquaintances, and threatening to give up tavern keeping if the Maine law wasn’t repealed.

“Here,” said he, “it has cost me up’ards of fifty dollars, and I’ll bet I hain’t sold mor’n a barrel, besides what wine that Kentucky chap has bought for his gal, and I suppose they call that nothin’, bein’ it’s for sickness.  Why, good Lord, the hull on’t was for medicine, or chimistry, or mechanics!”

This reminded his friend to inquire after the sick lady, whose name he did not remember.

“It’s ’Lena,” answered Uncle Timothy, “’Lena Rivers that dandified chap calls her, and it’s plaguy curis to me what she’s a runnin’ away for, and he a streakin’ it through the country arter her; there’s mischief summers, so I tell ’em, but that’s no consarn of mine so long as he pays down regular.”

Mr. Graham’s curiosity was instantly aroused, and the moment he could speak to Uncle Timothy alone, he asked what he meant by the sick lady.

In his own peculiar dialect, Uncle Timothy told all he knew, adding, “A relation of yourn, mebby?”

“Yes, yes,” said Mr. Graham.  “Is it far to Laurel Hill?”

“Better’n a dozen miles!  Was you goin’ out there?”

Mr. Graham replied in the affirmative, at the same time asking if he could procure a horse and carriage there.

Uncle Timothy never let an opportunity pass for turning a penny, and now nudging Mr. Graham with his elbow, he said, “Them liv’ry scamps’ll charge you tew dollars, at the lowest calkerlation.  I’m going right out, and will take you for six shillin’.  What do you think?”

Mr. Graham’s thoughts were not very complimentary to the shrewd Yankee, but keeping his opinion to himself, he replied that he would go, suggesting that they should start immediately.

“In less than five minits.  You jest set down while I go to the store arter some jimcracks for the old woman,” said Uncle Timothy, starting up the street, which was the last Mr. Graham saw of him for three long hours.