“I don’t want you to die, Uncle Liddell,” said Katherine, with simple sincerity, “but I wish there was anything I could do to interest you or amuse you.  I am sorry to see you so dull.  Why, you are obliged to sleep all the afternoon!”

“Amuse me?” he returned, with infinite scorn.  “You need not trouble yourself.  I have thoughts which occupy me of which you have no idea, and then I pass from thoughts to dreams—­grand dreams!”—­he paused for a moment.  “Where is that pile of papers that lay on the chair there?” he resumed, sharply.

“I have taken them away upstairs; when I have collected some more I am going to sell them.  My mother always sells her waste paper—­one may as well have a few pence for them.”

“Did you mother say so?” with some animation—­then another pause.  “Are you going to see her on Sunday?”

“Not next Sunday,” returned Katherine, quite pleased to draw him into conversation.  “You know we must let Mrs. Knapp go out every alternate Sunday, and you cannot be left alone.”

“Why not?  Am I an imbecile?  Am I dying?  I can tell you I have years of life before me yet.”

“I dare say; still, it is my duty to stay here in case you want anything.  But I shall go home on Saturday afternoon instead, if you have no objection.”

“You would not heed my objections if I had any.  You are self-willed, you are resolute.  I see things when I care to look.  There, I am very tired!  You will find some newspapers in my room; you can add them to the others.  How soon will dinner be ready?” Katherine felt herself dismissed.

The afternoons were much at her own disposal; and as she found a number of old books, some of which greatly interested her, she managed to accomplish a good deal of reading, and even did a little dreaming.  Still, though time seemed to go so slowly, the weeks, on looking back, had flown fast.

The monotony was terrible; but a break was at hand which was not quite unexpected.

The day following the above conversation, Katherine had retired as usual after dinner to write to a German friend with whom she kept up a desultory correspondence; the day was warm, and her door being open, the unwonted sound of the front door-bell startled her.

“Who could it possibly be?” asked Katherine of herself.  The next minute a familiar voice struck her ear, and she quickly descended to the front parlor.

There an appalling sight met her eyes.  In the centre of the room, her back to the door, stood Mrs. Fred Liddell, a little boy in either hand—­all three most carefully attired in their best garments, and making quite a pretty group.

Facing them, Mr. Liddell sat upright in his chair, his lean, claw-like hands grasping the arms, his eyes full of fierce astonishment.

“You see, my dear sir, as you have never invited me, I have ventured to come unasked to make your acquaintance, and to introduce my dear boys to you; for it is possible you have sent me a message by Katherine which she has forgotten to deliver; so I thought—­” Thus far the pretty little widow had proceeded when the children, catching sight of their auntie, sprang upon her with a cry of delight.