“That was Uncle Crotchet, who is dead,” said Buster John.
“Yes. Folks named him Little Crotchet,” Aaron remarked.
“That was ever so long ago,” suggested Sweetest Susan.
“Fifteen year,” said Aaron.
Meanwhile Buster John pretended to be playing with Aaron’s left hand. Finally he seized the thumb, bent it back as far as it would go, and made a cross-mark on it. Aaron playfully jerked his hand away, but Buster John caught it again, bent the thumb back and again made the cross-mark. Apparently Aaron paid no attention to this, for he failed to take his hand away. Once more, and for the third time, Buster John bent the thumb back and made the cross-mark. At once Aaron put him gently aside and went to the door and closed it. Then he turned to Buster John and said in a whisper:—
“How come? Where you been? Who told you?”
Buster John was so much surprised that he hesitated a moment, and then began to reply in a tone of voice somewhat louder than usual.
“Sh-sh! talk low!” whispered Aaron. “Did somebody tell you to do that?”
“Yes,” said Buster John.