"Can brothers refuse to speak—on Christmas Day, Jim?"
"I don't believe they can—under your roof, Uncle Steve."
"My roof, boy! Under God's roof!"
"It's pretty nearly the same thing," murmured Jim Dent, not irreverently.
"I may need your help, Jim."
"Sheep-dog—to bark at their heels and run them into the same pasture?"
Uncle Stephen smiled. His eyes and Jim's met with a twinkle.
"Just about that, perhaps," he admitted. "I can't tell yet. But keep your eyes open."
"I'll stand by," agreed his nephew. "It's a good thing the kiddies are here, Uncle Steve. When I came in Uncle George's children and Uncle William's were keeping more or less in separate squads, but the minute they pitched on to me the whole bunch were so tangled up I don't think they'll ever get untangled again. I had a glance at the fathers and mothers. Their faces were worth coming to see."
Mr. Kingsley looked at Jim earnestly. "I'm counting on the children, boy," said he.