“Yes, sir,” replied the child, wonderingly, “he's a cattleman in the Northern Territory.”
“Well! I'm the cattleman, Mary. I'm the Uncle Tom, and I've come to see you all.”
“All the way from Cape York! Why! Uncle Westonley says it's two thousand miles from here.”
“So it is, my dear,” and the man stroked the child's tousled chestnut hair caressingly; “quite two thousand miles,” and then as he looked at her pityingly he muttered something very uncomplimentary to Aunt Elizabeth.
“Are you really my uncle Thomas Gerrard?”
“I am really your Uncle Tom Gerrard, and you are my niece Mary. Your mother was my sister, whose name was Mary.”
“Uncle Westonley likes you.”
“Does he?” and the young man's kindly grey eyes smiled as he stroked his pointed beard. “Good old Ted!”
“Who's Ted?”
“Your Uncle Westonley, of course. Don't you call him 'Uncle Ted'?”