'Me!' he gasped, forgetting every single thing he had planned to say in front of this swift-moving creature who attacked him.
She came close up to him, her voice breathless still but if possible softer, eyes shining like two little lamps.
'I expected—from what Mother said—you'd be—just Uncle Richard! And instead it's only Uncle—Uncle Dick!'
Here was unaffected sincerity indeed. He had dreaded—he hardly knew why—some simpering sentence of formality, or even tears at being lonely in a strange house. And, in place of either came this sort of cowboy verdict, straight as a blow from the shoulder. It took his breath away. In his heart something turned very soft and yearning. And yet he—winced.
'Nice drive?' he heard his gruff voice asking. For the life of him he could think of nothing else to say. And the answer came with a little peal of breathless laughter, increasing his amazement and confusion.
'I drove all the way. I made the blackie let me. And the mothery person held on behind like a bolster. It was glorious.'
At the same moment two strong, quick arms, thin as a lariat, were round his neck. And he was being kissed—once only, though it felt all over his face. She stood on tiptoe to reach him, pulling his head down towards her lips.
'How are you, Uncle, please?'
'Thanks, Mánya,' he said shortly, straightening up in an effort to keep his balance, 'all right. Glad you are, too. Mrs. Coove, your ‘mothery person who held on like a bolster,' will take you upstairs and wash you. Then food—soon as you like.'
