"No, aunt; is that Uncle Basil's son?"
"Yes; I want you to make friends with him, and bring him over here on your half-term holiday. I hope he will come for a few weeks at midsummer, and then you will all be able to have a jolly time together."
"How old is he?" asked Valentine.
"Oh, I think he is about a year older than you are—fifteen or thereabouts."
Barbara had fished a stranger out of her cup, and was smiting the back of one plump little hand against the other, to the accompaniment of "Monday—Tuesday—Wednesday," and so on.
"Aunt Mab," she said suddenly, "how is it we never hear anything of Uncle Basil, or that he never comes to visit us? What's Jack like?"
"Well, I can hardly tell you," replied Miss Fenleigh; "I've only seen him once, poor boy, and that was several years ago."
"But why don't we ever see Uncle Basil?" persisted Barbara. "You often come and visit us, and why doesn't he?"
"Well, I live within ten miles of your house, and Padbury is thirty or forty miles on the other side of Melchester."
"But that isn't very far by railway; and if he can't come, why doesn't he write?"