CHAPTER XVIII
UNCLE TOM
Uncle Tom was undeniably glad to see them. He was sitting in the little room at the base of the tower which was his living room, smoking a great corn-cob pipe and idly turning over the pages of a book.
But as Connie entered and ran to him with a joyful cry, he put the pipe down carefully, flung the book on the floor and caught the girl in a bear’s hug.
“Well, well!” he cried, his great voice filling the room like thunder, “here’s my little girl come back to me again. I was beginning to think you’d deserted your uncle in his old age, Connie, lass. When did you get back? And who are these other very pretty young ladies you have with you?”
“They are my chums and the nicest girls in all the world,” said Connie, turning to them gayly. “You must have known they were coming, Uncle Tom. Mother said she told you.”
“Yes, yes, so she did,” said Uncle Tom in the same hearty tones that seemed to fill the little room and—the girls could almost have sworn to it—make it tremble. “But my memory is getting worse and worse, Connie, lass,” he added, with a doleful shake of the head that was belied by the merry twinkle in his eyes. “Let me see now, what was it their names were?”
Then laughingly Connie introduced the girls and Uncle Tom had some funny personal little thing to say to each one of them so that by the time the introductions were over they were all laughing merrily and feeling very well acquainted.
“I suppose you will be wanting to see the tower,” said Uncle Tom, after he had shown them all around the quaint little room and introduced them to some of his treasures—queer racks and shells and pebbles that he had picked up in his wanderings. “Everybody always wants to climb the tower, and it’s mighty hard on a poor old fellow with a weak back, let me tell you.” And again the doleful shake of the head was belied by the twinkle in his eyes.