"Uncle! Guess ye've struck the wrong spot this time. Better move on."
"But you must be our uncle," the voice insisted. "The man wot left us here said you are our Uncle Abner."
"Well, I ain't, so that's the end of it," was the curt reply.
At these words the two little creatures broke into a pitiful cry. Abner was helpless and in a quandary.
"What are we to do?" came the wailing question. "The man is gone and we're lost."
"Lost, eh? Well, come in, then, till I have a look at yez."
Quickly the children obeyed, and soon were standing in the middle of the room, two forlorn objects of distress and misery. They were boys, one about seven years of age, the other five. Their clothes were ragged and their faces looked as if they had not been washed for days. But there was something about them that appealed to Abner, whose heart was always affected by the helpless and the unfortunate. The little visitors showed no sign of fear, but stood watching Abner with big, beautiful dark eyes.
"So ye're huntin' fer ye'r uncle, eh?" Abner queried.
"Yep," the older boy replied.
"Yeth," came the other.