"So it ought," agreed Jim Dent, smiling at the thought. "It would be a fine name, and true, too."
He carried the boy away, and stopped to tell him a story after he was in bed—a football story, such as only Cousin Jim could tell, because he knew all about it from the inside. But when Jim came back to the fireside he told them of young Syl's idea. "And a jolly idea I call it, don't you?" he added.
Uncle Stephen looked from one to another of the four men around him, and saw the assenting smiles upon their faces—a bit shame-faced, perhaps, yet genuine.
Samuel Kingsley rose to his feet. "I could make my speech now," he said, with a happy laugh, his hands shoved well down into his pockets, where they jingled some loose change there in a boyish fashion. "But I don't want to. I'm only going to say that as long as I have a brother in the world like Stephen Kingsley I'm coming to see him as often as he'll have me. And the more of you boys I meet here the better I'll be pleased—particularly if the boy I meet here happens to be—" he glanced, smiling, across the little circle—"my brother Syl!"
"Hear, hear!" answered Sylvester Kingsley's deep voice.
So, to Stephen Kingsley's intense delight, "Brotherly House" it was—and has been ever since.
THE END
THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS
GARDEN CITY, N.Y.
Printer logo, sample page