By Berwen Banks

In fact, Jim Harris considered himself a "friend of the family," and

had gone to the station with the express intention of meeting the

"young leddy." Having for years sailed under Captain Powell, he still

haunted his house whenever he was on dry land. Every morning he went

in to shave him, and in the evening he mixed his toddy for him and made

him comfortable for the night, expecting and receiving no more than the

friendship and grateful thanks of the old man who had, not so long ago,

been his captain. Having deposited the portmanteau, Valmai had

scarcely time to thank him before he had slouched away with a polite

touch of his cap.

"My uncle lives here? Captain Powell."

"Yes, miss, and thank the Lord you've come, for Ay've bin ewt on the

road looking for you twenty taimes to-day, though Ay towld him you

couldn't come afore the train. There he is, knocking again. You go up

to him, miss, that's all he wants. Ay'll bring your bag up, honey.

There's your room, raight a-top of the stayurs; and there's your

uncle's door on the first landing. Ye'll hear him grumbling." And,

following these instructions, Valmai knocked at the first door she came

to.

"Come in, and be tarnished to you," said an extraordinarily gruff

voice; and, almost before she had time to enter the room, a heavy book

came flying at her. Fortunately, it missed its aim, and she stood for

a moment irresolute at the door, while her uncle, without looking at

her, continued to rail at his much-enduring domestic, whom he was

accustomed to manage by swearing at and flattering in turns. His voice

was a guttural rumbling, which seemed to come from some cavernous

bronchial depths.

"Ain't the little gel come yet?"

"Uncle, here I am," said Valmai, approaching the bed with a frightened

look, though she tried to put on a placid smile.

The shaggy head turned on its pillow.

"Hello and so you are; in spite of that old witch saying for the last

hour that you couldn't 'acome yet. Come here, my beauty, and shake

hands with your old uncle. Ay've got one hand, you see, to shake with

you."

"Yes, uncle, and to throw books at me when I come in."

There was a low, gurgling laugh, which deepened the colour in the old

man's face so much that Valmai, fearing he was going to have a fit,

hastened to say something quiet and calming.

"I came as soon as I could, uncle. We were so sorry to hear of your

accident. How did it happen?"

"The Lord knows, my dear, Ay don't, for Ay've walked up that street

four or five times every day the last faive years, and never done such

a thing afore. But there--" and he began to gurgle again, to Valmai's

horror, "there must always be a beginning to everything, so Ay slipped

on a d--d stone, somehow or other, and, being no light weight, broke my

leg, and sprained my wrist into the bargain. Take off your things, may

dear. Are you up for nursing an old man till he's well again?"