Adam.

His uncle, thinking to make things easier for him, said: “Get what over?”

There was a sign of shyness about him at this.  He stammered a little at first, but his voice became more even as he went on.

“My visit to Mercy Farm.”

Mr. Salton waited eagerly.  The old diplomatist simply smiled.

“I suppose you both know that I was much interested yesterday in the Watfords?”  There was no denial or fending off the question.  Both the old men smiled acquiescence.  Adam went on: “I meant you to see it—both of you.  You, uncle, because you are my uncle and the nearest of my own kin, and, moreover, you couldn’t have been more kind to me or made me more welcome if you had been my own father.”  Mr. Salton said nothing.  He simply held out his hand, and the other took it and held it for a few seconds.  “And you, sir, because you have shown me something of the same affection which in my wildest dreams of home I had no right to expect.”  He stopped for an instant, much moved.

Sir Nathaniel answered softly, laying his hand on the youth’s shoulder.

“You are right, my boy; quite right.  That is the proper way to look at it.  And I may tell you that we old men, who have no children of our own, feel our hearts growing warm when we hear words like those.”

Then Adam hurried on, speaking with a rush, as if he wanted to come to the crucial point.

“Mr. Watford had not come in, but Lilla and Mimi were at home, and they made me feel very welcome.  They have all a great regard for my uncle.  I am glad of that any way, for I like them all—much.  We were having tea, when Mr. Caswall came to the door, attended by the negro.  Lilla opened the door herself.  The window of the living-room at the farm is a large one, and from within you cannot help see