" He
made six consecutive trips to the sitting-room, carrying one stick of wood
each time as a pretext, before he caught Roberta's eye. When he finally
succeeded, he beckoned mysteriously to her, and she got right up and
followed him from the room. He led her out of ear-shot of the others
before he told her what he wanted.
"Lil Missus, how's it happen dat you never axes me no mo' whar your par
is?"
"Because, Uncle Squire, I am afraid you will tell me 'lay o'ers to catch
meddlers.'"
"I neber sed erlong wid dat, honey, 'en you'd be de fus' one caught.'
Well, if I never sect dat, thar's nuffin' sartin erbout who I means when I
sez 'lay o'ers ter ketch meddlers'; you musen jump et conclugeons, honey.
Ennyhow, you ax me ergin, en see what I'll say dis time."
She asked him, her eager eyes uplifted to his face, her small hands
clasped, wondering and hope bursting into instant full dawn. A way hope
has of doing in youth.
The old man went through his accustomed facial pantomime, slapped himself
on the thigh, and blurted out:
"In town wid de Unions. He is Kyurnel Robert Marsden now."
"Who told you, Uncle Squire?" Her eyes were filled with sudden gathered
tears, and her scarlet lips trembled.
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