“Uncle Gabriel!” cried Viola—for it was she who had gripped his arm—and the child’s cheeks were flaming, whilst her lips curled with scorn, and her white teeth gleamed like those of a beast of prey. “Uncle Gabriel!” she almost shrieked, “if you don’t trust Ephraim, then take your money back again … it’s only because you are our mother’s brother that we accept it from you at all … Ephraim shall repay you to the last farthing … Ephraim doesn’t gamble … you sha’n’t lose a single penny of it.”
With a shake of his head the farmer regarded the strange child. He felt something like annoyance rise within him; an angry word rose to the lips of the usually good tempered man. But it remained unsaid; he was unable to remove his eyes from the child’s face.
“As I live,” he muttered, “she has Gudule’s very eyes.”
And with another thumping slap on his leg, he merrily exclaimed:
“All right, we’ll leave it so then…. If Ephraim doesn’t repay me, I’ll take YOU, you wild thing… for you’ve stood surety for your brother, and then I’ll take you away, and keep you with me at home. Do you agree… you little spit-fire, eh?”
“Yes, uncle!” cried Viola.
“Then give me a kiss, Viola.”
The child hesitated for a moment, then she laid her cheek upon her uncle’s face.
“Ah, now I’ve got you, you little spit-fire,” he cried, kissing her again and again. “Aren’t you ashamed now to have snapped your uncle up like that?”
Then after giving Ephraim some further information about the present price of oats, and the future prospects of the crops, with a sideshot at the chances of wool, skins, and other merchandise, he took his leave.