Both Peter and Josephine heard him with amazement.
"What is that, Uncle Joe? That 'when I leave.' Have I—have I been so—so saucy and forgetful that—that you can't let me stay?"
"No, no, child. I merely meant—There, don't look so distressed. You are here for the day, anyway, because none of us can go trudging about in such weather. I'll telephone for—There. No matter. It's right. It's all right. Don't, for goodness sake, cry. Anything, anything but that. Ugh! my foot. I must get out of this draught," he almost yelled.
Josephine was very grave. She walked quietly to Uncle Joe's side, and clasped the hand which did not hold a cane with both her own.
"It's dreadful funny, seems to me. Aren't we going to stay in this house all the time? I wish—I'm sorry I spoke about the box and the heatheny money. But if you don't mind, I must, I must, get into my trunk. The key is in my satchel in my room. Mamma put it there with the clean clothes I wore last night.
