Something in the tone warned Bertie that his tormentors were going to have rather a warm time of it, as they themselves would phrase it, from this favorite uncle of theirs.
He was sorry then, and looked up suddenly with appealing eyes.
“Please don’t be angry with them. I don’t think they understand. You see, it never happened to them.”
“What never happened to them?”
“Why, the water coming in—the cold, dreadful water—rising higher and higher—and the people crying and shouting and rushing to the boats;” and Bertie pressed his hands into his eyes, as if to shut out some terrible picture.
Uncle Fred remained long silent, hoping the child would go on, and perhaps utter words that might be a clue for his identification; but he said no more, and presently the young man asked,—
“And did all that happen to you, Bertie?”
“Ye—es—unless I dreamed it;” and Bertie slowly took his hands from his face and looked wonderingly up at Uncle Fred.
“And when did it happen? Just before you came here?”