"Is that you, John?" he said.
"Yes, Uncle Matthew," John answered, tiptoeing to the side of the bed. "I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier. I never thought!..."
Uncle Matthew smiled at him. "Sure, son, it doesn't matter. You couldn't know ... none of us did. Well, was the play good?"
But John did not wish to speak about the play. He wished only to sit by his Uncle's bed and hold his Uncle's hand.
"I'll go downstairs now for a wee while," Mrs. MacDermott said. "I have a few things to do, and John can call me if you need me, Matt!"
"Aye, Hannah!" said Uncle Matthew.
John looked up at his mother, but she had turned to leave the room, and he could not see her face.
He had never heard her call his Uncle by the name of "Matt" before, nor had he often heard Uncle Matthew use her Christian name in addressing her. He avoided it, John had observed, as much as possible, and it had seemed to him that his Uncle did so because of his mother's antagonism to him.
"What are you staring at, John?" Uncle Matthew said feebly.
"She called you 'Matt', Uncle!"