“Henry!  Henry who?”

“Why, Henry Mayfield, my brother.”

“No!  Why, the last time I heard from him he was in St. Louis.”

“Well, he is here now, and has been for five months.  His wife’s relatives are all here.  And so he having been offered a position in the same firm with me, accepted it.  We agreed to keep it as a pleasant little surprise for you.”

“Well, I’m glad of it.”

Just as Uncle Hiram said so the object of their conversation came in.

Henry Mayfield was not the jovial, merry fellow that Charley was, and not likely to be so generally a favorite.  But there was an earnestness and determination in his bearing that inspired respect immediately.

“Come, uncle!  Go in with me to see my wife and little ones,” said Henry, after sitting and talking a while.  “We have a half hour yet before business requires us, and then, if you like, we will go down town together.”

Henry’s parlor, into which he ushered his uncle, was furnished better than his brother’s; but still it was not so prettily arranged—­the “woman’s touch” was not so plainly visible.  Immediately Henry’s wife came in to welcome her husband’s uncle.

She was a bright little woman, not near so delicately featured as Nellie; but with a youthful, well-preserved look, an easy, quiet, peaceful air about her that made Uncle Hiram feel quite sure, if he stayed her guest a month, it would not put her out a bit.  If any extra care or worry came, it was not to her.  Some one else’s mind and hands would have to overcome any difficulties.

“Henry, dear, have our boy brought in to see his uncle,” she said.

“Ah, ha!” thought Uncle Hiram, “I see—­the shoulders best able to bear the burden of family cares have it.  Just as it should be!”

A few moments, and the baby-boy was brought in by the nurse and presented to the uncle.  Baby, like his mother, looked happy and healthy.

When they were about leaving for down town, Uncle Hiram heard Henry say: 

“Ada, please order the cook to delay dinner an hour to-day.  I’ve business which will delay me so long.”

“Very well,” was the smiling reply.

“A cook and a nurse.  That is why Ada looks so calm, healthy and happy. Just as it should be.  Poor little, patient, over-worked Nellie!  I wonder how it is, both having equal means.  I must find out what the trouble is,” said Uncle Hiram to himself.

Now, Charley was not a drinking man, his uncle felt sure.  He knew, indeed, that when he first grew to manhood he had vowed never to touch rum in any form.

The dinner at Charley’s was better, if possible, than the breakfast.  It was a real treat to the old bachelor, whose life was spent in a boarding-house, to partake of such good, healthy fare as Nellie gave him.  But always he felt like partaking of it under protest.  Nellie—­little, weary, tired Nellie—­ever filled his mind and heart.  At dinner Charley brought forth his ale, declaring it to be “the very best in town.”  And after dinner his cigars, “none finer to be found,” he said.