Go home and put on your Sunday best; there is time." The old man was busy between table and cupboard as he talked.

"Have you seen Carlia lately ?" "No," replied Dorian.
"The last time she was here I thought she was a little peaked in the face, for you know she has such a rosy, roly-poly one." "Is that so?
She comes to see you, then ?" "Yes; oftener than you do." "I never meet her here." "No; she manages that, I surmise." "What do you mean ?" "I tell you Carlia is a lovely girl," continued Uncle Zed, ignoring his direct question.

"Have you ever eaten butter she has churned ?" "Not that I know." "She used to bring me a nice pat when my cow was dry; and bread of her own baking too, about as good as I myself make." He chuckled as he wiped the last dish and placed it neatly in the rack.
Dorian arose to go.

"Remember what I have told you this evening" said Uncle Zed.

The old man from behind his window watched his young friend walk leisurely along the road until he reached the cross-lots path which led to the Duke home.