He had "a way with him"-- revealed even in the manner with which he caught staid Aunt Janet in his arms, swung her matronly form around as though she had been a slim schoolgirl, and kissed her rosy cheek.
"Sister o' mine, are you never going to grow old ?" he said.

"Here you are at forty-five with the roses of sixteen--and not a gray hair, I'll wager." "Blair, Blair, it is you who are always young," laughed Aunt Janet, not ill pleased.

"Where in the world did you come from?
And what is this I hear of your sleeping all night in the hammock ?" "I've been painting in the Lake District all summer, as you know," answered Uncle Blair, "and one day I just got homesick to see my little girl.

So I sailed for Montreal without further delay.

I got here at eleven last night--the station-master's son drove me down.