He taught him to
read and write English. Thus busily occupied, and loving Lucia because she
loved his nephew so, his health improved, as well as his temper. He could
even tolerate "Red's" harmonica; in fact, he often begged him to play it
when the latter came over to midday dinner, and his legs had so improved
that he could actually jiggle them to some merry tune.
"If you don't look out, you'll be dancin' soon!" "Red" used to say on these
happy occasions. "You can shimmy now!"
"Shet your head!" Uncle Henry cried; but not angrily--not now. He laughed
when he said it, and was secretly flattered that anyone thought he had such
pep at his age and in his condition of semi-invalidism (for that is all it
could be called now).
It was five o'clock when the Giddings family came. They used the faithful
little Ford for the short run; but they too had a big roadster, painted a
flaming red, "to match the master's hair," Mrs. Quinn put it.
Angela, radiant in her motherhood, instantly compared notes with Lucia as
to infant symptoms--not that anything was the matter with either child; but
she loved to be ready for any emergency, and had a natural fear that
Panchita might be taken ill in the night sometime; and was everything in
her home medicine-chest, that should be?
Uncle Henry begged to take both children on his lap; and, holding them
firmly, he made his boy push the chair here and there, got "Red" to play
the once detested harmonica, and had a gay time of it all around the ranch
house.
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