“That’s when the lady gets better, I s’pose. I suspect that she’s cast anchor for a good while, from what I hear,” replied the sailor. “But pluck up a good heart, little lass, and don’t look as though you were about to set the water-works going; I’ve brought you something to cheer you up a bit;” and slowly unfolding his red pocket-handkerchief, Jonas displayed a large cake of gingerbread. “Here’s for you,” he said, holding it out to his niece.
“Oh! uncle!” cried Alie, without attempting to touch it.
“Take it, will you,” said he sharply; “what are ye hanging back for?” Alie took the cake, and thanked her uncle in a faltering voice. Jonas stooped down, lighted his pipe, and as he glanced at the warm corner which used to be his favourite’s chosen place, and missed her well-known purr, the old sailor gave an unconscious sigh, and “Poor Tabby!” escaped from his lips.
UNCLE JONAS.
The sound of the sigh, and the words, gave pain to the heart of little Alie. “Here am I receiving kindness from my uncle,” thought she, “and knowing how little I deserve it; and yet I have not courage to confess the truth! I am sure that fear is a snare to me. Oh, that I had a braver heart, so that I should dread nothing but doing wrong! Johnny is as bold as a lion, yet I am sure that even he would be afraid to tell the truth to my uncle!”
“What’s the matter with the lass?” cried Jonas with blunt kindness, taking the pipe from his lips, and looking steadily at the child. “Ye’re vexed at your mother biding away?”
“It is not that,” replied Alie, very softly.
“Ye’re fretting about the cat?”
“Partly,” murmured the child.