“You ’d ought to go tell him, Celia, ’t you didn’t mean anything,” said Uncle William, “—actin’ that way. He’s a good deal cut up—the way you’ve been.
“I don’t know where he is,” said Celia. She was smoothing the white frock and smiling to Wilhelmina and whistling little tunes.
“He’s down to the beach,” said Uncle William. “He come along down when I did—You ain’t treated him right,” he said slowly.... “I like fam’lies, and I like folks to have houses and fam’lies of their own—not be livin’ round, Celia.” He looked at her kindly.... “She ’ll be kind of a fam’ly to me—” He nodded to the little figure in her arms, “You needn’t worry a mite about me, Celia.... You just wait till I get her suthin’ to eat and then you can go.... George said he was going out sailing,” he added.
He drew the bottle from his pocket and looked at it critically.
“You ought to heat it,” said the girl quickly.
“‘D you think so?” Uncle William held it out, “—Feels kind o’ warm, don’t it—bein’ in my pocket sot Guess I’ll keep the other one there till it’s time.”
He seated himself and reached up for the baby.... Celia hesitated—looking out at the shining water and the clear sun and the big boat down below—“I don’t like to leave you alone,” she said.
“I ain’t alone,” said Uncle William, “—and like enough Sergia ’ll be here byme-by. She said suthin’ about it—You run along now, Celia. You remember he kind o’ hinted he wanted to take you out today. You tell him you ’ll go—tell him right off—fust thing—’fore anything has time to happen—” he said severely.
“Yes, sir.” She flitted from the door and he looked after her, a little dubiously.... “I ’most ought to go with her,” he said.
Then his eye fell on the gurgling face and he laughed.