“My, but ain’t he a swell!” said Old Joe, as a tall man, dressed in grey, alighted from the buggy at the gate.
Old Joe had been with the family for years, and so was privileged.
“My! but ain’t he?” gasped Eileen, unconsciously lapsing into Joe’s style.
Mother had hurried forward to greet him, and for an instant Mollie’s heart sank. How could they ever approach this tall, stylish man, who looked so smart and alert, and so well groomed from the crown of his hat to the sole of his boot; and to think that they had written to him and asked him to come! Dear me! he was the smartest and most business-like man she had ever seen, and he looked rather stern and severe, too, although his eyes lit up with a smile as he shook hands with Mother.
They wished for an instant that he was just the ordinary, every-day, common or garden variety kind of a man; but it couldn’t be helped—they’d have to face the inevitable.
And then he glanced towards them.
“And these are your little girls, Vera?”
“Yes; come along, children, and meet your Uncle.”
They all came forward bravely, and were introduced to their new uncle; and he was a real “sport,” and never let on that he had even heard of them before. He asked their names and ages, as though there were no such thing in the world as a letter. They soon gained courage, and returned his smiles.
“I suppose you are real little bush girls?” he asked, with a twinkle in his eye.