“I—I thought of it myself, Uncle Joe.”
“Don’t you like it any more here with Aunty Rose and—and me?” he demanded.
“Oh, yes! Only—only, Uncle Joe, I don’t want to stay, if we’re a nuisance, Prince and me. I don’t want to stay, if you don’t love me.”
Joseph Stagg had become quite excited. He stood up, running his fingers through his bushy hair, and knocking off his hat.
“Bless me!” he finally cried once more. “How do you know I don’t love you, Car’lyn May?”
“Why—why—But, Uncle Joe! how do I know you do love me?” demanded the little girl. “You never told me so!”
The startled man sank upon the log again.
“Well, maybe that’s so,” he murmured. “I s’pose it isn’t my way to be very—very—softlike. But listen here, Car’lyn May.”
“I ain’t likely to tell you very frequent how much I—I think of you. Ahem! But you’d better stop worrying about such things as money and the like. What I’ve got comes pretty near belonging to you. Anyway, unless I have to go to the poorhouse myself, I reckon you needn’t worry about going,” and he coughed again drily.