"My sweet child! how glad I am to see you again, and to know you got safely off from that little dragon of a lawyer. I have not thought of anything else since I returned to the boat, and oh, the pity of it and the pathos of the trial! I could not stay to see the end, but still I felt that no one, and least of all that kind-faced judge, could resist the adorable man who pleaded for you as for his son." Thus she went on, and giving me no chance to say a word, led me to a sofa, and drawing me to a seat beside her, sat down, her arm about my body. "Come now, my dear, tell me all about yourself and your Uncle Job, and that acrid old Aunt Jane, for I know she is both old and sour."
"My aunt's cold, madam, but she's more like ice than vinegar," I answered, not knowing what to say.
"Because of that you do not love her?"
"How can I, for she doesn't love me as my mother did."
"No one, my sweet child, ever will, save one, if you are lucky. But where do you come from?" the lady went on, as if to make me forget my unhappy state.
"From Little Sandy, madam."
"How quaint! And who is Uncle Job? What a droll name for so sprightly a gentleman."
"He is my mother's brother, and is to be my guardian, I hope."
"I hope so too, for I am sure he will be more indulgent than the other; and children do so much need indulgence," she went on, looking over at the little group she had just left. "Where are you going? How I wish you might live near us! I have children of my own, but I am sure I could love you too"; and with that she bent over and kissed me again, as my mother might.
"It would be better than I could hope, to be near you, but I am glad I've seen you, anyway," I replied, returning her caress, so gentle and kind were her ways.