“My little Joe! John’s one baby daughter! My precious little namesake!”
The mislaid uncle had been found! That truth was evident in the spontaneous recognition of him, by his likeness so strong to his twin, that even the daughter had confounded the pair. A moment later, though, the child had perceived her own mistake and was regarding him more shyly, from the safe refuge of the old Uncle Joe’s knee, which had long since learned to adjust itself to the convenience of small maidens.
Something prompted Mrs. Merriman and Miss Kimono to withdraw from a scene they dreaded might be painful, and they thoughtfully took Josephine away with them. They knew, far better than she, how wonderfully she had grown into the lonely heart of the aged millionaire, whose money was so powerless to buy for him what this other, younger Joseph was so rich in. It were kinder and wiser to leave the two uncles alone, and face to face to adjust their complicated affairs as best they might.
Nobody need have feared, though. When folk are honest-minded, and love a common object, such as little Josephine, matters are soon arranged. In half an hour the conference was over, and the child ran back into the library to find the two Uncle Joes standing before its window and looking across the pretty square—where the crocuses were peeping through the tender grass and no sign of snow remained—toward a small house on its sunny northeastern corner.
The child slipped in between the two and caught a hand of both, while for an instant each diverted his gaze to her sweet face and smiled upon her. Then began again the deep, well-beloved tones of the old Uncle Joe:
“There, Joseph, that’s the house. It’s empty. I bought it on a speculation, and fitted it up well. It’s completely furnished, and so nicely I wouldn’t let it to every tenant who’s applied. That will go with the position, in addition to the salary. I’ve been dissatisfied with Mr. Wakeman this long time. He’s too officious, too grasping, too eager. I’m thankful he found you, and will pay him well for it. But that ends his service to me. I’ll give him an advance of wages and shake him. You can enter upon your duties—to-morrow, if you like. I’ll send out a van or two to move in your effects.”
The new Uncle Joe held up his hand.
“Unnecessary, dear Mr. Smith. Our effects could easily be brought in on a pushcart;” yet saying this the man’s smile was neither less bright nor more ashamed. Why should he be ashamed? He had gone down in one battle with the world, but he was up again and ready for another.
The answer, somehow, pleased the elder man. He liked simplicity, and he liked frankness. Josephine’s new uncle possessed both these, with an added cheerfulness which communicated itself to all who met him. He was, or had been, as ready to take his brother’s charge upon his hands in his penury as he now seemed to be in his suddenly acquired prosperity.
Looking across the square at the home offered him, his eye kindled and his cheek glowed. His figure that had stooped somewhat from the wasted strength due insufficient food became erect, and his whole bearing assumed a military poise that was so fondly familiar to the little Californian.