“And I was saying you were like the rest of the world—like the rest of the world, Harry, my dear boy,” was all my uncle could say, in a choking voice, and there were tears in his eyes as he spoke.
“Say no more, Uncle—say no more,” I exclaimed, shaking him warmly by the hands.
Then he took his wife to his heart, telling her in broken words that there was to be peace at the old place after all.
It must have been from joy at the happiness I was the means of bringing into that home, or else from the example that was set me, for the next moment I had Lilla in my arms, kissing her for response to the thanks looking from her bright eyes; and even when my uncle turned to me I could only get one hand at liberty to give him, the other would still clasp the little form that did not for an instant shrink.
“Too bad—too bad, Harry—too bad!” said my uncle, with a smile and a shake of the head. “I am no sooner free of one obligation than I am under another; and so now, on the strength of that money, you put in your claims.”
“To be sure, Uncle,” I said laughing; “and you see how poor Lilla suffers.”
I repented saying those words the next moment, for Lilla shrank hastily away, blushing deeply.
My uncle and I were soon left alone, when, holding out his hand to me, he said, in a voice whose deep tones told how he was moved:
“Harry, my boy, I can never repay you the service you have done me; but if I live I will repay you the money.”
“Look here, Uncle,” I said, “once and for all—let that be buried. There, light your cigar; and I can talk to you.” Then, taking our places in a recess by one of the shaded windows, I spoke to him in a low tone. “You know how I have spent my time lately?”