“My dear child, I never had such a fiendish temper as Jack’s,” said Mr. Graham.
“No, you were more like Gwen, even and pleasant, and you weren’t like Jack. But Jack is a noble boy. He isn’t mean, and he isn’t unkind,” said Jan.
To her great relief her uncle gave a faint laugh. “No one remembers our childhood like these grandmothers of ours!” he said. “You remember my boyhood better than I do, Jan.”
“Let Jack come down and talk to you, uncle,” pleaded Jan, after she had punished him for his impertinence by spatting the end of his nose with a favorite movement of her forefinger. “We are all miserable and worried to death now, but we have each other. But there is Jack—only eleven—up-stairs, like a prisoner, worse off than any of us, because he caused all this sorrow! Only Syd and I go near him—and Drom—and after a while he will be so unhappy you can’t do anything with him—he’s having a fearful time—it would kill me!”
“Who is Drom?” asked Mr. Graham.
“The poor little dog Syd and I saved and had his broken leg set. He’s a darling, so loving and grateful, and he knows more than lots of people!” said Jan.
“What is that Mrs. Browning wrote about some one whose face looked brighter for the little brown bee’s humming? I used to have time to read, but I don’t get a moment now! You are a born lover, Jan. Some people have a talent for loving, just as others have a talent for music, and some—a few—for cooking,” said her uncle. “I seem to remember hearing how you swooped down on the persecutors of that dog. And so you think I’m a bad father?”
“O Uncle Howard, I never thought anything so horrid or so impertinent!” cried Jan. “I’m only a little girl, and what do I know about bringing up children? I never knew any girl outside a story-book who knew how to bring up a family. But of course I feel as though nothing could be nice but mamma’s ways, because we are the very happiest children in the world, and I know she wouldn’t dare leave Jack all alone these dreadful days.”
There was silence for a few moments, and then to Jan’s infinite relief and joy her uncle said: “You are right, Janet. It will do the boy mischief to be left brooding through these dark days of anxiety. And I suspect you are right and he has needed wise control all along. Go up and tell Jack to come to me. Tell him not to be afraid—I know he has had punishment enough—but to come down, and we’ll begin all over again.”
Jan ran off on her errand with a lighter heart than she had had since the day of the accident, first giving her uncle a warmly grateful kiss on the forehead, around which the hair was beginning to grow a little thin. Jack needed no persuading to follow her down-stairs. Much as he had always feared his father, he would have faced anything rather than be left any longer a prisoner with his own thoughts.