He turned about at once and came back to where Thaine stood beside his mother.
“This is Jim Shirley’s little girl, Mrs. Aydelot,” he said, gently patting Leigh’s shoulder.
“That’s my wife,” little Thaine said gravely. “We will go and live at the purple notches when I come home from the war.”
Virginia’s heart warmed toward the motherless little one, 169 and Leigh understood her at once. Nor once in all the years that followed did the two fail each other.
The Cloverdale homestead never had known such a gala fixing as Jim Shirley had kept there for nearly a week awaiting the doctor’s return. Truly, love is genius in itself, and only genius could have put so many quaint and attractive touches to such common surroundings as now embellished the little four-roomed house in the bend of Grass River.
Doctor Carey tied his horses to the post beside the trail, and, lifting Leigh from the buggy, he said:
“Uncle Jim is up there waiting for you, and oh, so glad, so glad to have you come. Go and meet him, Leigh.”
Leigh smoothed her little gray wool frock down with her dainty little hands. Then, pushing back the gray cap with its scarlet quill from her forehead where the golden hair fell in soft rings, she passed up the grassy way to meet Jim Shirley. He could never have looked bigger and handsomer than he did at that moment. In his eyes all the heart hunger of years seemed centered as he watched the little six-year-old child coming towards him.
Just before reaching the doorway, she paused, and with that clear penetration only a little child possesses, she looked up into the strong man’s face.
“Uncle Jim. My Uncle Jim,” she cried. “I can love you always.”