'Oh! here's the long lad,' said Felix. 'You'll not mistake him.'
'Aye! I should know Tina,' said Fulbert. 'He always did look the parson. Who's missing now—Robina?'
'Robin is here! Oh Ful, Ful, you're very big, but your face is just like the old times when you used to clamber up the timbers in the yard!'
'That's right, Bob! Now I begin to believe I'm come home. You're as jolly as ever.'
Just then a shout of 'Mother!' and a vigorous patter of boots ended in the bouncing in of two red curly mops of hair, whose owners were pursuing a squabble of 'I will' and 'I won't,' and pulling at the opposite ends of a string as they charged against Wilmet, in loud appeal and protest. 'Softly, softly, Kester, Eddy, look at your uncle!' was the motherly unperturbed rebuke, a hand on each shoulder, 'There's your uncle Fulbert. Oh Kester, right hands.'
'Never mind,' said Fulbert, not more eager for the greeting than the two nephews, who began again, 'Mother, make Eddy'—'Mother, Kester won't'—and reeled out of the room still twisted up in the string, Wilmet after them. 'Like a pair of puppies in leash,' said Felix.
'How many are there?'
'These two, and a little girl.'
Then came a sound, not without sweetness, though still a whine—'Chérie! I want Chérie, O Chérie, they've got my lasso,' and tottering and shuffling in came the little black figure with the white face and clung to her. Both travellers started. 'I thought they said Theodore—No, he'd be bigger,' exclaimed Fulbert.
'It is Gerald, poor Edgar's boy,' said Felix. 'Here, Gerald, here is another brother of your father—and here's a dear old friend.'