It was odd to see Truculence rise and help the little ones in; and odder still to see the children smile up into that formidable face, when they took their seats.
A CONFIDENT YOUNGSTER.
I noticed the twinkle in his eye, however, as he watched the bairnies trying to scramble to the window. He was evidently much interested in a bright little boy of seven with dreamy eyes, who was bent on amusing himself; and I could see that he wanted badly to shake hands with him and his tot of a sister, and ask them their names. He evidently regretted his inability to speak Dutch; but he made up for his silence by reaching the boy the window-strap, with a nod of comradeship. The little fellow took it eagerly and, after playing with it a moment or two, slid off his seat and actually climbed up beside Truculence (the scorner of everything non-British) and pushing Truculence to one side, looked out of Truculence’s window.
So surprisingly passive was my severe compatriot at all this that I hazarded a guess, and said: “You have a boy of five at home?”
He stopped short clearing the pane for his tiny companion, and sat stock-still. It might have been a statue that was beside me so little did he move. Not a sound in answer to my question!
Quickly I glanced at him.
Oh, I could have bitten off my tongue when I saw that man’s face! It was drawn and white, and not at all like the scornful censor’s of a few minutes before.
AN ENGLISH UNCLE FOR CLAAS.
He continued staring out of the window a moment; then he turned and said quietly: “I ’ad—a little fair haired fellow—a year ago..... ’E was six.... An’ the born image of thet kiddie there.”
Here he stroked the kiddie’s head, which was now glued to the glass in an eager endeavour to see a passing train.