"We shall miss the nice stories, but we shall miss you even more than the stories," she said, putting her arms around her old friend's neck.
Uncle Sam had been called to New York on business. He might be gone two months. It might even be a longer time than that. He could not tell. He looked from one child to the other with a face beaming with love.
"One more story. Yes, that is all. Then you children will have time to think over what I have told you. And when I come back you will be ready to hear some more. It is a good thing, after all, for me to go away and give you a rest.
"You see, children, I get wound up just like a clock. If I once get to going, I can't stop unless something makes me."
"Give us a rest, indeed!" cried Joe. "Lucy and I are not babies. We like stories that mean something, now that we are nine years old. Besides, you could not tire us anyway, Uncle Sam."
The old man looked pleased.
"Well, well, I am glad to hear it. But it is almost dark already. I will begin at once with the story I promised for this evening.
"It is about some poor people in England who were shut up in prisons. They were not wicked. They had not stolen nor done any other dreadful deed. Yet the prison doors were tightly locked upon them and they were shut out from the beauty of this great world.
"You shall hear why these people were not free. They owed money and were not able to pay it back. In the old days in England there were many poor people. It was hard to earn a living. Some of those who tried the hardest, could get no work. Then, of course, they did not have money. Yet they needed food and clothing for their families the same as ever. They could not let them starve.