My uncle opened the door, and closed it behind him. His lamp and matches stood ready on his table: it was my part to see they were there. With a sigh, which seemed to seek me in the darkness and find me, he came forward through it. I caught him round the legs, and clung to him. He gave a great gasp and a smothered cry, staggered, and nearly fell.
“My God!” he murmured.
“Uncle! uncle!” I cried, in greater terror than he; “it's only Orbie! It's only your little one!”
“Oh! it's only my little one, is it?” he rejoined, at once recovering his equanimity, and not for a moment losing the temper so ready, like nervous cat, to spring from most of us when startled.
He caught me up in his arms, and held me to his heart. I could feel it beat against my little person.
“Uncle! uncle!” I cried again. “Don't! Don't!”
“Did I hurt you, my little one?” he said, and relaxing his embrace, held me more gently, but did not set me down.
“No, no!” I answered. “But I've got a secret, and you mustn't kiss me till it is gone. I wish there was a swine to send it into!”
“Give it to me, little one. I will treat it better than a swine would.”
“But it mustn't be treated, uncle! It might come again!”