"What would you do uptown, dear Uncle Percival ?" she inquired gently.
The old man laid the flute on his knees, where his shrunken little hands still caressed it.

"Do?
why I'd die if you dragged me away from my roots," he answered.
Laura smiled, still smoothing him down as if he were an amiable dog.
"Well, the Park is very pleasant, you know," she returned, "and it is full of walks, too.

You wouldn't lack space for exercise." "The Park?
Pooh!" piped Uncle Percival, raising his voice; "I wouldn't give these streets for the whole of Central Park together.

Why, I've seen these pavements laid and relaid for seventy years and I remember all the men who walked over them.

Did I ever tell you of the time I strolled through Irving Place with Thackeray?
As for Central Park, it hasn't an ounce--not an ounce of atmosphere." "Oh, well, that settles it," laughed Laura.