"Guess we won't lose track of one 'nother again, Marcia." "Not if I can help it, Cale; it is n't my fault that we see each other for the first time in twenty-six years." "So 't ain't, so 't ain't, poor little soul." I heard a catch in his voice, but I did not spare him. "How old was I when you left home?" "'Bout three months, if I remember right." "Did you ever see me--then?" "No." "You did n't have any interest in me?" "Not much, I 'll own up." Then he added weakly, for he wanted to spare me the truth by gently lying out of it, "I 've heard men don't take to new-born babies as women do; they 're kinder soft ter handle." "And you saw me for the first time in my life at the steamboat landing?" "Yes--an' my knees fairly give way beneath me, for I saw Happy standin' before me an' speakin' in the voice I remember so well." "A long while, twenty-six years, Cale?" "Don't, Marcia, don't rub it in so!" He was half resentful; and I, having brought him to this point, was satisfied to relent. "Cale," I said, withdrawing my hand and facing him, as well as I could with my new foot appendages to steer, "I 'll forgive you for not paying any attention to me for twenty-six years, on one condition--" "What is thet?" His eagerness was almost pathetic. "That you 'll take me for just what I am, who I am, Marcia Farrell--not Happy Morey; if you don't I shall be unhappy. And you 're to love me for myself, do you hear? Just for myself, and not because I 'm the living image of my mother. Now don't you forget. I give you warning, I shall be insanely jealous if you love me for anybody but myself--and I take it for granted you _do_ love me, don't you, Cale?" "You know I do, Marcia." I had him at my mercy and I was merciful. "Well, then, if I did n't have all this paraphernalia on my feet, I would venture to throw my arms around your neck and give you a good hug--Uncle Cale. As it is I might flop suddenly and fall upon your breast." "Guess I could stand it if you did,"--he smiled happily, the creases around his eyes deepening to wrinkles,--"but 'twixt you and me, this ain't exactly the place nor the weather for any palaverin'--" "Palavering! Well, you are ungallant, Cale; I don't dare to call you 'Uncle' now, for fear I might make a slip before the entire family, and that would complicate matters, would n't it?" "Guess 't would," he replied earnestly; "complicate 'em in a way 't would take more 'n a lawyer's wits ter uncomplicate." "Then let's go home and see what the Doctor is doing." "He 's great!" "Wait till I tell you sometime a secret about him--and me: you 'll think he is greater." "You don't mean thet, Marcia!" "Mean what?" I asked a little shortly, for I felt annoyed at his tone of protest and resentment. "Mean? Wal, thet the Doctor 's sweet on you--" "Silas C. Marstin, I am angry with you, yes, angry! Do you want to spoil all my fun,--yes, and my happiness,--by just mentioning such an impossible thing?"