Buddy looked up with sympathetic interest at the tall form of Uncle John, tall even if bent with age, and square shouldered still. As we said above they had come to be companions, now since Buddy had made his home at the old home of his mother, the good farm place now owned and run by two of his uncles, Will and Martin. As they walked about the little fellow had never realized that he had been eyes to the old man, and that his busy chatter told of what was passing about. The little lad had been both eyes and ears as he talked. Everything attracted his attention from the bird on the branch to the passing automobile, from the sunshine glittering among the branches of the trees to the whistle of the winds across the fields.
The farm home stood at the cross-roads and had been the only home of which Buddy had any remembrance. Here his mama had been a little girl, and here his “grannyfather” had lived his days. Grandfather had planted the pine tree, which now rose way above the house top.
“Mail-man, mail-man!” Buddy was shouting.
“Me get ’em, me get ’em!” he added, running for the gate. Mr. Mail-man handed a piece or two to Buddy, but waited for Uncle John before he handed over the rest.
“Some advertising” he explained, “Buddy will give it to Uncle Martin.”
Buddy started for the house, very proud of the commission that had been entrusted to him. He was met at the door, and by the arrival of Old John everybody became busy about the mail. Buddy and Uncle John soon found themselves on the bench once more under the tall pine.
“Letter my Daddy?”
Buddy had been quiet again for some time, and then broke out in this remark.
“Well, I guess not—what made you think of that?”
Uncle John had been unable to suppress his surprise. Instinctively he reached out to lay his hand upon the boy.