Stealthily, I made my way toward the cabin, but I was not yet so skilled in woodcraft that my feet made no noise. Before I reached the door, my Uncle came out, and a glance at his face showed me that he had met with a great loss.
Like other geniuses, Uncle was somewhat careless in his attire. As a family, we had often laboured with him on this point, but to no avail. The unfettered spirit of the great will express itself in outward semblance, and at length we gave it up. Uncle wore a pair of trousers which, at first sight, did not appear to be his, and a negligee shirt, wide open at the throat, like a poet’s. A bright red handkerchief, carelessly knotted, took the place of a tie, and his coat was his velvet one, to which he had been strongly attached for many years. Small hoops of gold, similar to those worn by Venetian noblemen, hung from the pendant lobes of his musical ears.
Seeing me, he eyed me for a moment in great astonishment. “Hella da dev!” he exclaimed. “What for you coma da here?”
I can never hope to describe, in English, the charm of my Uncle’s foreign accent. Long years of residence in this country had not eradicated it, and his low, melodious voice, full of unexpected harmonies, gave a lyric quality to his conversation.
“I am here,” I returned, “because this is my cabin. I might ask the same question of you,” I added, playfully.
“Hella da dev!” said Uncle once more. This quaint, foreign phrase, indicating a pleasant surprise, often appeared in his speech. “My father-in-law, he giva da coop to you? It is astonish!”
“Yes,” I sighed, “it is.” Grandfather was one of those thrifty pioneers who held on to a cent until the Indian howled.
Uncle sat down and wiped his forehead with the fancy, coloured handkerchief which was an heirloom in his family. This was quite in keeping with the situation, for I have often known the unexpected sight of a relative to produce cold perspiration on the skin of a sensitive, emotional person.
“Listen,” said Uncle, struggling to his feet. “I tella you. Here I come two, tree day back. Maka da gr-rand professional tour through ze back countree, where zees poor pipple, zey haf no moosic at all. It ees pitiful.”
I nodded. Such generosity was like Uncle.