Patience Wins: War in the Works

“I say, Uncle Dick, do tell me what sort of a place it is.”
“Oh, you’ll see when you get there!”
“Uncle Jack, you tell me then; what’s it like?”
“Like! What, Arrowfield? Ask Uncle Bob.”
“There, Uncle Bob, I’m to ask you. Do tell me what sort of a place it is?”
“Get out, you young nuisance!”
“What a shame!” I said. “Here are you three great clever men, who know all about it; you’ve been down half a dozen times, and yet you won’t answer a civil question when you are asked.”
I looked in an ill-used way at my three uncles, as they sat at the table covered with papers; and except that one would be a little darker than the other, I could not help thinking how very much they were alike, and at the same time like my father, only that he had some grey coming at the sides of his head. They were all big fine-looking men between thirty and forty, stern enough when they were busy, but wonderfully good-tempered and full of fun when business was over; and I’m afraid they spoiled me.
When, as I say, business was over, they were ready for anything with me, and though I had a great feeling of reverence, almost dread, for my father, my three big uncles always seemed to me like companions, and they treated me as if I were their equal.
Cricket! Ah! Many’s the game we’ve had together. They’d take me fishing, and give me the best pitch, and see that I caught fish if they did not.
Tops, marbles, kite-flying, football; insect and egg collecting; geology, botany, chemistry; they were at home with all, and I shared in the game or pursuit as eagerly as they.