"Hello!" she said listlessly.
A voice vaguely familiar answered, "Is Miss Rosanna Horton there?"
"This is Rosanna," said she.
There was a slight pause, then the voice said in a queer mincy way, "Oh, yes, Miss Rosanna Horton. Well, can you tell me, please, where Mr. Robert Horton is?"
"He is in France," said Rosanna.
"Are you sure?" said the voice. "I heard that he had returned to this country on business and was here in Louisville. I heard he had come to see a niece of his."
Rosanna had heard enough. She commenced to jump up and down.
"Oh, Uncle Robert, Uncle Bobby, where are you? Oh, hurry, hurry!"
"All right, sweetness," said Uncle Bob in his own voice. "I am right behind the house in the garage. I thought I would let you down easy."
Rosanna did not hear anything after "garage." She dropped the receiver, went through the house like a whirlwind, and was clasped in Uncle Robert's arms, where it must be confessed she shed some real and comforting tears.