“O, indeed! What is your name?”
“My name is Richard Millard. What’s your name, sir?”
“My name is Richard Fontaine; and I shouldn’t wonder if you are my nephew.”
“I’m about certain you are my uncle. And is that my English aunt? Wont ma be glad? Say, wont you hurry up? I was going into the city. My pa’s going to speak to-night. Did you ever hear my pa speak?”
“No; but I should like to do so.”
“I should think you would. See! There’s ma. That is Lulu hanging on to her, and that is Sam Houston in her arms. My pony is called ‘San Jacinto.’ Say! Who is that with you and aunt, Uncle Richard? I mean you;” and he nodded and smiled at Harry.
“That is Harry Hallam—a relation of yours.”
“I’m glad of that. Would he like to ride my pony?”
“Yes,” answered Harry, promptly.
But Richard declined to make exchanges just there, especially as they could see Phyllis curiously watching their approach. In another moment she had given Sam Houston to a negro nurse, flung a sunbonnet on her head, and was tripping to the gate to meet them.