"Well, I never was good at counting kin, as it is called, but my brother Fred did marry Johnnie's father's sister—all the world knows that: so little Tottie—Violet, you know—is Johnnie's cousin—no wonder she is like him; and my brother Fred's wife would be Johnnie's aunt; and—and—why, Dawson, I myself am Johnnie's uncle.—Hullo, Johnnie Greybreeks! I'm your uncle. I'm your uncle Tom; shake hands, old man."
At this moment Johnnie really could not have affirmed whether his head or his heels were uppermost, or whether this big, jolly gentleman with the big brown beard wasn't having a joke at his expense. However, he shook hands almost mechanically.
"Hush!" cried Tom; "there are little footsteps on the stairs, and the sound of childish laughter. I believe it is Violet and her governess. Talk of angels, and they appear."
Next moment in rushed Violet, screaming with delight. She kissed Uncle Tom somewhere about the beard.
"Oh," she cried, "doverness has been so dood, and buyed me such a lot of pletty fings."
Then she noticed Johnnie.
She stuck one finger in her mouth thoughtfully, but recovering her self-possession almost immediately, she advanced and held out her wee chubby hand.
"I fink," she said, "you is Dohnnie Dleybleeks? How d'ye do, little boy? You and me has met before."
Johnnie jumped off the stool and shook hands as politely as a nobleman would have done.
"Aren't they like now!" said Tom.