'I thought I knew your voice, sir,' I said.
'Call me uncle Bryan. Knew my voice! It isn't possible, as you've never set eyes on me, nor I on you, till this moment.'
This was intended to settle the doubt, and I never again referred to it, although it remained with me for a long while afterwards. The trunk had been left on the doorstep, and uncle Bryan assisted us to carry it upstairs to the bedroom allotted to us. A little bed for me--uncle Bryan made it over to me in three words--was placed behind a screen.
'I thought,' he said to my mother, 'you would like your boy to sleep in the same room as yourself. The house is a small one, but we can find another place for him if you wish.'
'Thank you, Bryan,' replied my mother simply, 'I would like to have him with me.'
Uncle Bryan was evidently no waster of words, and my mother entered readily into his humour.
'You must be tired,' he said, as he was about to leave the room; 'rest yourself a bit. But the sooner you come downstairs, the better I shall be pleased.'
My mother laid her hand on his arm, and detained him.
'Let me say a word to you, Bryan.'
'You will never repeat it!' he exclaimed, with a quick apprehension of what she wished to say.