At sight of the fairy little figure bounding toward him, he set down a valise he carried, stooped and held out his arms, the stern lips relaxing into a smile, the grey eyes twinkling.
In an instant she was clinging about his neck, the rosebud mouth pressing sweet kisses on his lips.
"Well, my bonny bairn, are you glad to see your old uncle come home?" he asked, fondling her for a moment; then setting her on her feet and taking her hand, he walked on toward the house, Aunt Chloe and a negro boy with the valise, following.
A pleasant-faced matron, in a neat muslin dress and cap, met them on the veranda.
"Welcome home, sir, Mr. Cameron," she said shaking hands with him. "Your room's a' ready, and tea will be on the table in ten minutes. Elsie, my bonnie pet, will ye no stay wi' me while uncle changes his linen?"
"Yes, Mrs. Murray, wis you and mammy," the child answered, with cheerful acquiescence. "Uncle won't go 'way to-morrow nor nex' day 'cause he said so."
The child's meals were usually taken alone in the nursery, earlier hours than those preferred by the older people better suiting her tender years; but to-night she took tea with her guardian and Mr. Murray, Mrs. Murray sitting opposite him and presiding over the tea urn, Elsie between them at his right hand; while Aunt Chloe stood at the back of her chair, ready to give instant attention to every want and wish.
The evenings were cool enough to make an open wood fire very agreeable, and a fine one blazed and crackled on the hearth in the library, whither Mr. Cameron bent his steps on leaving the table.
He had scarcely taken possession of an easy chair beside it, when Elsie crept to his side and claimed a seat on his knee.
"Poor bit fatherless bairn!" he muttered, as he took her up. "Some folk are, as the good book says, 'without natural affection.'"