“Hullo! Here is Squib without his satellite. Will wonders never cease?”
Squib looked up with a start as this voice reached him, and found himself face to face with Uncle Ronald. He had been looking very serious as he came up the hill towards the chalet, but now his face beamed all over.
“Uncle Ronald! You have got back.”
“Yes; got back an hour ago, a few days before we expected. We’ve had a grand time of it. We’ll tell you all about it in good time. But what are you doing without Czar? He has not deserted you surely?”
The tears sprang suddenly to the child’s eyes.
“Czar is dead,” he answered slowly.
“Dead!” echoed Uncle Ronald, drawing his lips together in a low whistle. “You don’t mean it, Squib! What took him off?”
“He was killed by lightning in the storm,” answered Squib, turning his face away as he spoke.
“Killed by lightning! Good gracious! What a frightful thing! And where were you at the time, Squib?”
“Close by,” he answered, and then was silent a long time. The young uncle did not like to ask any more questions; but Squib suddenly broke out in his impetuous fashion,—