Ted was surprised to hear the man use the pet name, but then that was not strange, as many persons, seeing Ted and Jan for the first time, called them “Curlytops,” for that name seemed just to fit them.
“Aren’t you anybody’s Uncle Ben?” asked Janet softly. “You look exactly as if you ought to be somebody’s Uncle Ben.”
The man, sitting up in the easy chair laughed, and his laugh was a pleasant one and caused the children to like him more than ever.
“Yes,” he said, “I suppose I am some one’s Uncle Ben. My name, which I have not had a chance to tell you,” he went on, “is Benjamin Wilson,” and he looked at Mr. and Mrs. Martin. “Some years ago my sister, who lived in New York, had two children, and of course I was Uncle Ben to them. But they both died, and now I am not Uncle Ben to any one.”
Just then Baby William, who was always an impulsive little chap, broke away from Jan, who was holding him, and ran to the strange man—no, I must not call him a stranger any longer. I must use his name—Mr. Wilson. Trouble climbed up into the lap of Mr. Wilson, and clasped his baby fingers in the man’s brown beard.
“I ’ikes you!” he lisped.
“Do you? Well, I’m glad of that. And I like you!” laughed Mr. Wilson.
“Say!” cried Teddy, struck with a new thought, “couldn’t you be our Uncle Ben?”
Mr. Wilson looked at Mr. and Mrs. Martin.
“If you don’t mind, the children could call you that,” said the mother of the Curlytops. “The Uncle Ben they speak of, whose picture is in our photograph album, is my uncle, but they always claim him as their own. He does look a great deal like you. His name is Benjamin Thompson, and he lives in Florida. We don’t see him very often, but the children like to look at his picture.”