The quarrel promised to be a pretty one, when, all unperceived, the man whose beard was under discussion had come into the garden and stood by them. Eva ran towards him, putting her hand in his.
"Uncle Tom, tell him, please. He won't b'lieve me."
"It's all about beards," said Jack. "Eva says birds build in 'em same as they do in bushes, and o' course they don't. It's just nonsense."
"No bird has tried to build in mine at present," said Uncle Tom, stroking his thoughtfully. "What made you think of such a funny thing, Eva?"
It took a minute or two to unravel the thread of the children's discussion, and Uncle Tom sat chuckling to himself as they talked.
"The simplest way of putting the matter straight will be to tell you what I mean by calling myself a bush brother, won't it?"
"Yes," said the children in chorus.
"It's neither being mummy's brother nor the beard I grow that gives me the title——"
Jack gave Eva a nudge.
"But it's the calling that I've chosen for the present. There were a few parsons in England——"