There was no prouder child in that city that morning than the little stranger within its gates. She prepared her bath without aid, brushed her hair and dressed herself entirely. It was true that her curls did not look much as they did after mamma’s loving fingers had handled them, and the less said about those on the back of her head the better. Nor were the buttons in the right places to match the buttonholes, and the result was that the little frock which had always been so tidy hung at a curious angle from its wearer’s shoulders.
But who’d mind a trifle like that, in a beginner?
Not Uncle Joe, who saw only the fair front of his visitor, as she ran down the hall to meet him, emerging from his own chamber. Indeed, he was not now in a mood to observe anything save himself, though he answered Josephine’s gay “Good morning” with another rather grimly spoken.
The child paused, astonished. There were no longer tears in his eyes, but he looked as if a “good cry” would be relief. His face was distorted with pain, and every time he put one of his feet to the floor he winced as if it hurt him. He seemed as dim and glum as the day outside, and that was dreary beyond anything the little Californian had ever seen. The snow had fallen steadily all the night, and the avenue was almost impassable. A few milk-carts forced their way along, and a man in a gray uniform, with a leather bag over his shoulder, was wading up each flight of steps to the doorways above them and handing in the morning mail.
“Aren’t you well, Uncle Joe? Didn’t you rest well?” she inquired solicitously.
“No, I’ve got that wretched old gout again,” he snapped.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a horrible, useless, nerve-racking ‘misery’ in my foot. It’s being out in that storm yesterday, and this senseless heap of snow on the ground. March is supposed to be spring, but this beastly climate doesn’t know what spring means. Ugh!” he groaned.
“Doesn’t it?” she asked, amazed by this statement.
“Hum, child. There’s no need of your repeating everything I say in another question. I’m always cross when I’m gouty. Don’t heed me. Just enjoy yourself the best you can, for I don’t see how I’m to hunt up your uncle for you in such weather.”