"I guess I won't wait no longer, Miss Hathaway," Joe shouted, and,
suiting the action to the word, turned around and started down hill. Mr.
Ball, half way up the gravelled walk, turned back to smile at Joe with
feeble jocularity.
Hearing the familiar voice, Hepsey hastened to the front of the house,
and was about to retreat, when Mr. Ball stopped her.
"Pore little darlin'," he said, kindly, noting her tear stained face.
"Don't go--wait a minute." He fumbled at his belt and at last extracted
a crisp, new ten dollar bill. "Here, take that and buy you a ribbon or
sunthin' to remember your lovin' Uncle James by."
Hepsey's face brightened, and she hastily concealed the bill in her
dress. "I ain't your niece," she said, hesitatingly, "it's Miss Thorne."
"That don't make no difference," rejoined Mr. Ball, generously, "I'm
willin' you should be my niece too. All pretty young things is my
nieces and I loves 'em all. Won't you give your pore old uncle a kiss to
remember you by?"
Ruth, who had heard the last words, came down to the gravelled walk.
"Aunt Jane is coming," she announced, and Hepsey fled.
When the lady of the house appeared, Uncle James was sitting at one end
of the piazza and Ruth at the other, exchanging decorous commonplaces.