"There! neb mind," he said, but there was a note of kindness in his voice.
The sun had gone down and the air was frosty and still. Marty's bare toes tingled with the cold, but her face glowed with joy as she trudged toward the house at her uncle's side. She would have liked to take hold of his hand, not only to rest her tired legs, but because her happy heart wanted to show the affection of which it was so bubbling full, but she was afraid.
Marty was happier than she had ever been before in her life. That wasn't saying much, for Marty's mother had died when she was very young, and had left her and little Tim alone in the world. They had been passed around from relative to relative for a number of years, and Marty had taken care of Tim, and lavished on him all the affection of her timid heart. While they were together she hadn't minded poor clothes and hard work, but when Uncle Ben had taken "the boy," and Uncle Eb had taken her, Marty's heart was quite broken. For Uncle Ben lived in Shelbyville, miles away, and how would little Tim get along without her?
Aunt Tucker was known and respected in the community as a "good provider" and a good Christian, but she didn't understand Marty. Besides that, she had Elly and Susie and John, her own children, to look after. Marty was shy and timid and dreamy, and so it happened that she became little maid-of-all-work, a kind of country Cinderella. But she tried to keep a brave face, and dreamed of the time when Tim would be big enough to earn his own living and could take her away.
As the summer passed, Marty had grown more and more lonesome; she felt as if she hadn't a friend in the world. One day she was in the barn-yard, and Dot—Uncle Eb's old white cow—looked around at her so sympathetically with her big, kind eyes that a knot tied itself in Marty's throat, and she ran and threw her arms around Dot's neck.
"You'll be my friend—won't you, Dot?" she sobbed.
Dot was evidently about to say something sympathetic, when Marty felt a hand on her head. It was Uncle Eb's.
"What's the matter, Marty?" he asked, and his raspy voice sounded as if it had just been oiled.
She had always been afraid of Uncle Eb. He was big and silent, and his bushy eyebrows scowled. But she said:
"I'm lonesome. I want to see Tim."