“But we’re already provided with a father,” she replied. “And it would be such a pity to waste you. Wouldn’t you care to take the position of uncle? That’s vacant.”
“All right, uncle—Uncle Jim.”
“Uncle Jim,” she repeated thoughtfully. “It seems funny to come into possession of your first uncle when you’re twenty years old.”
There was a bend in the path and the bushes grew almost across it. She suddenly quickened her speed, passed him, and ran on before.
“Come on,” she called over her shoulder. “I’m just hitting the trail again.”
He followed her, turned the bend, and pushing the branches aside, saw her a few feet ahead of him, standing on a flat stone about a foot high, which directly intercepted the path.
“What are you mounted on that for?” he said, laughing. “You look as if you were going to make a speech.”
“That’s what I’d like to do,” she answered, “but I was told not to, and I’m very obedient. Come nearer—quite close.”
He approached, a little puzzled, for he saw that she was suddenly grave. The stone raised her a few inches above him, and as he drew near she leaned down, took him by the lapels of his coat, and drawing him close, bent and kissed him softly on the forehead. Then she drew back, and still holding him, looked with tender eyes into his.
“Uncle Jim,” she said, “that’s your christening.”