"Oh, they're sure to know him there; he goes every year; he told me so."
"Were you there with him?"
"No, I was in his own bungalow. He went to Scotland after I left."
"Can you remember the name of his bungalow?"
"Yes: Longhope."
"Any station?"
"There is a station, but it's very far off, and I don't remember its name. Won't my letter get to him?" the little boy asked anxiously.
The man looked through his bright spectacles right into Ronnie's large brown eyes. He noticed that the child was very thin, and that he hunched his shoulders and drooped his head.
The man laid his writing-pad upon the ground and lifted Ronnie on to his knee.
"Old chap," he said, "you've got the blues, and you're a bit of a misfit. That's what's the matter with you. But it won't last. Believe me, it won't last. I'll do my best to find this Uncle Gerald of yours. I'm going to town this afternoon, and I'll look him up in Burke."