Jed whistled a few bars and peered over the side at the seaweed marking the border of the narrow, shallow channel.
"I cal'late," he drawled, after a moment, "that he hadn't noticed how much we look alike."
It was Barbara's turn to be astonished.
"But we DON'T look alike, Uncle Jed," she declared. "Not a single bit."
Jed nodded. "No-o," he admitted. "I presume that's why he didn't notice it."
This explanation, which other people might have found somewhat unsatisfactory, appeared to satisfy Miss Armstrong; at any rate she accepted it without comment. There was another pause in the conversation. Then she said:
"I don't know, after all, as I ought to call you 'Uncle Jed,' Uncle Jed."
"Eh? Why not, for the land sakes?"
"'Cause uncles make people cry in our family. I heard Mamma crying last night, after she thought I was asleep. And I know she was crying about Uncle Charlie. She cried when they took him away, you know, and now she cries when he's coming home again. She cried awf'ly when they took him away."
"Oh, she did, eh?"