“Oh, please, sir, are you Master Nathaniel, who’s far away at sea?” she cried.
“I am Nathaniel,” I said laughing, “but I’m not far away at sea. Where’s Uncle Joe?”
“He’s down the garden, sir, smoking his pipe in the tool-house,” said the girl smiling; and I dashed through the drawing-room, jumped down the steps, and ran to the well-remembered spot, to find dear old Uncle Joe sitting there with all my treasures carefully dusted but otherwise untouched; and as I stood behind him and clapped my hands over his eyes, there was he with poor old Humpty Dumpty before him.
“Who—who’s that?” he cried.
“Guess!” I shouted.
“I—I can’t guess,” he said. “I don’t know you. Let go or I shall call for help.”
“Why, Uncle Joe!” I cried, taking away my hands and clasping his.
He stared at me from top to toe, and at last said in a trembling voice:
“You’re not my boy Nat?”
“But indeed I am, uncle,” I cried.