“Three thousand Smiths in this little city; and seventy-five of them are Josephs! Well, my child, you’re mighty rich in ‘uncles’!”
CHAPTER V.
A WILD MARCH MORNING.
Josephine was half-asleep. A woman would have thought about her fatigue and sent her early to bed. “Uncle Joe” thought of nothing now save the array of common and uncommon names in the city directory. He counted and recounted the “Smiths,” “Smyths,” and “Smythes,” and jotted down his figures in a notebook. He copied, also, any address of any Smith whose residence was in a locality which he considered suitable for relatives of his small guest. He became so absorbed in this study that an hour had passed before he remembered her, and the extraordinary quiet of her lively tongue.
Josephine had dozed and waked, dozed and waked, and dreamed many dreams during that hour of silence. Her tired little brain was all confused with the weird pictures of tortured men gazing at her from the trunks of gnarled trees, and thoughts of a myriad of uncles, each wearing eyeglasses, and sitting with glistening bald head beneath a brilliant light. The light dazzled her, the dreams terrified her, and the little face that dropped at length upon the open page of the great folio was drawn and distressed.
“For goodness sake! I suppose she’s sleepy. I believe that children do go to bed early. At least they should. If I’m to be a correct sort of ‘uncle,’ even for one night, I must get her there. I wonder how!” considered the gentleman.
The first thing was to wake her, and he attempted it, saying:
“Josephine! Josephine!”
The child stirred uneasily, but slumbered on.
“Uncle Joe” laid his hand upon her shoulder rather gingerly. He was much more afraid of her than she could ever be of him.
“Miss Josephine! If you please, wake up.”