Half alarmed, he came forward and shook her by the shoulder.
"For heaven's sake, child, is anything the matter?"
Still she made no reply; she kept gazing, gazing in one direction as though fascinated.
Following her glance, he saw the fragments of a fancy Mexican tobacco-jar, which he had shown to her only the day before.
"Alene, I'm ashamed of you!" he cried in an angry tone. "Has the breaking of this jar brought you to such a state as this? Why, anyone would think—I'd swear it was the truth myself were anyone else in question—yes, they would think me an ogre who ate little girls who chanced to break something!" Turning away, he paced the floor with rapid steps backward and forward. The longer he walked, the faster he went, and higher the angry red glowed in his cheeks.
For a time Alene kept her unaccountable position. Presently her eyes strayed sidewise toward her agitated companion, who, intent on his own angry mutterings, was unaware of her inspection. The gleam of mirth that overspread her countenance was quickly banished; she rose and stood beside her chair and then crossed the floor to his side.
A little hand stole into his, a pair of blue eyes gazed contritely upward.
"Oh, Uncle, you said it was a present and I felt so badly! You aren't angry?"
"Ain't I? Do I look as if I'd beat a child?"
Suddenly his angry mood passed away, and he threw himself into a chair, in a paroxysm of laughter.