the lights are out to haunt the darkness, and had carefully patched them one upon another so as to make them into an ideal of an old Uncle of great wickedness.  On that very ship itself I had beheld a man, who came upon the lower deck from the engine, who had but one eye and a great scar where that other eye should have been placed.  Immediately my image of the General Robert Carruthers lost one of the wicked eyes I had given him from out the head of the stepfather who did so cruelly stare at the poor young David Copperfield, and became a man with only one eye which still held the malevolence that was hurled at that small David.  And with this squat, crooked, evil image of the General Robert Carruthers in my heart I alighted from the train into the City of Hayesville, which is the capital of the great American State of Harpeth.  The black man had swung himself off with my bags and that of the beautiful Madam Whitworth, who with me was the last of the passengers to descend from the steps of the car.

“My dear Jeff!” exclaimed my so lovely new friend as she raised her veil for a very seemly kiss from a tall and quite broad gentleman with a very wide hat and long mustachios that dropped far down with want of wax that it is the custom to use for their elevation in France, as I well know from my father’s wrathy remarks to his valet if he made a too great use of it upon his.  “And this is General Carruthers’ nephew who came down on the train with me.  My husband, Mr. Carruthers of Grez and Bye!” with which introduction she confronted me with the gentleman.

“Glad to know you, young man; glad to know you,” he answered as he took my hand and gave it an embrace of such vigor that I almost made outcry.  “There’s the General over there looking for you.  Come to see us sometime.  Come on, Patsy!”

“Good-bye, Mr. Carruthers.  I’ll see you soon,” said the beautiful Madam Whitworth as she held out her hand to me.  “Do it now; there comes the General!  Quick, kiss my hand!”

I bent and did as she bade me and as I had promised her to do, and as I raised myself she slipped away quickly after her husband with a salutation of great coolness to a person over my shoulder and a “How do you do, General Carruthers” remark as she went.

Instantly I turned and faced the materialization of the ogre it had taken me years to build up into my wicked Uncle.  And what did I see?

My eyes looked straight into eyes of the greatest kindness and wisdom I had ever before beheld, and it was with difficulty I restrained myself from flinging myself and my suit of English tweed straight into the strong arms and burying my head on the broad deep chest that confronted me as the huge old gentleman, with as perfect a mop of white hair as is mine of black, rioting over his large head, towered over me.

“You gallivanting young idiot, where did you pick up that dimity?” he demanded of me as he laid a large hand with long strong fingers on my shoulders and gave me a slight shake.  “Don’t tell me it was over Pat Whitworth you had that ruckus at the Ritz-Carlton day before yesterday!”