sented to the proposition. He came
back to the house half an hour later,
alone. He was fairly quivering with
indignation and rage.
"Why, where is Mr. Sercombe?"
inquired Clyde in her sweetest, but
falsest tone, well knowing.
"Gone!" roared the old tyro. "If
he ever shows his face here again 111
have him horsewhipped from the
Uncle!" cried Clytie In affected
horror and dismay.
"Why," shouted Mr. Wyman, "he
actually criticized my chickens, said
they were half-breeds, called me 'Old
Top,' asked me how much I was
worth, and said he believed he'd be
come my son-in-law. Yes, he will!"
bellowed the irate old man.
"I am so sorry, uncle," declared
Clytie. "I I think a great deal of
"Wefl, forget him!" fired up her in
tractable relative, "or give up all
hopes of ever inheriting any of my
wealth. Now, young lady, you listen
to me; if you ever meet this young
man again or go to skylarking
around with him secretly, I'll pack
you "off home and settle the whole
business by taking in the Greys.
They're a brood, but the girl is, a
worker and she's the last pick, so
mind your p's and q's, if you're wise."
Clytie went away by herself and
laughed in high glee. Then, not
withstanding the dreadful threats of
her uncle, that same evening she met
her devoted lover in a remote lane of
the village, as prearranged.
"I don't see any way to cut this
Gordian knot," said Paul, after a full
hour of conversation, "except to set
tle the whole matter by following our
own minds and getting married at
"But the folks at home won't con
sent," said Clytie. "And they have
set their hearts on my being an heir
ess." "Haven't I got enough to care for
both of us?" dembanded PauL
"Yes, indeed, so I want to fix it so
Uncle Wyman will surely drop me as
the prospective heiress and take up
that dear, little, deserving, hard
worker, Vivian Grey "
"Let us elope."
But it seemed the only way out of
the dilemma. They carried out the
program in due romantic style, too.
The next morning there was a wild
time around the Wyman home. A ser
vant came to her master, pale and
"Oh, sir," she gasped, "burglars!"
"Eh! Where? When? How?" chal
lenged the old man, startled.
"Miss Clytie, sir!"
"What about her?"
"Gone. Ladder up to the window.
Left this note."
"Dear uncle," it read. "I love Paul
so I couldn't disappoint him. We will
be Mr. and Mrs. Sercombe' and off on
our wedding trip inside of an hour.
"I discard her forever'.'Vyelldd the
irate old curmudgeon, 'line shan't
have a cent of my money, ril act
quick, before her father comes
snooping around to influence me to
change my mind."
Then Mr. Wyman primped up and
went down to the humble Grey home.
As he rounded the shabby louse he
heard a bright, cheery woice singing.
He peeped in at the window,
Busy-bee Vivian wtfa Ironing and
singing to sleep her llifle brother in
a chair near the table. Everything
was poor, but scrupulously clean.
"I'd like to have that music down
at the big house," chuckled the old
tyrant. "That girl knows how to
make things look home-like, and
that's what I want. Morning, Vivian,"
he greeted, as he entered the kitchen.
"Why, Uncle Wyman, this is a real
pleasure," said Vivian, sincerely, glad
to see her arbitrary relative, and he
was convinced that the expression
"You can drop that ironing," he
'What for, uncle!"
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