Uncle Percy loved the world and desired that, in natural return, the world should love him. It seemed to him that the world did so. Once and again the net of his jollity and fun seemed to miss some straggling fish who gaped and then swam away, but he was of that happy temperament thus described by one of the most lovable of our modern poets:

How could the world help but love him, jolly, amiable, sensible man that he was?

But once and again ... once and again. ... And so it was now. And the fish that was eluding him was young Jeremy Cole.

On the seventh or eighth day he was aware of it. At breakfast he looked across the table and saw the small square-shaped boy gravely winking at Mary. Why was he winking at his sister? It could not be, surely it could not be because of anything that he himself had said? And yet, looking behind him, so to speak, he could not remember that anyone else had been talking. This was enough to make him think, and, thinking, it occurred to him that that small boy had from the very first been aloof and reserved. Not natural for small boys to be reserved with jolly uncles. And it was not as though the boy were in general a reserved child. No, he had heard him laughing and jumping about the house enough to bring the roof down. Playing around with that dog of his.... Quite a normal, sporting boy. Come to think of it, the best of the family. By far the best of the family. You’d never think, to look at him, that he was Herbert’s son.

Therefore after breakfast in the hall he cried in his jolly, hearty tones:

“I say, Jeremy, what do you say to taking your old uncle round the town this morning, eh? Showing him the shops and things, what? Might be something we’d like to buy....”

Jeremy was half-way up the stairs. He came slowly down again. On the bottom step, looking very gravely at his uncle, he said:

“I’m very sorry, Uncle Percy, but I’m going to school to-morrow morning, and I promised mother——”

But Mrs. Cole was at this moment coming out of the dining-room. Looking up and smiling, she said:

“Never mind, Jeremy. Go with Uncle Percy this morning, dear. I can manage about the shirts....”

Jeremy appeared not to have heard his mother.

“I’m sorry I can’t go out this morning, Uncle Percy. There’s my holiday task too. I’ve got to swot at it—” and then turned and slowly disappeared round the corner of the staircase.

Uncle Percy was chagrined. Really he was. He stood with his large body balanced on his large legs, hesitating, in the hall.

“It is his last morning, Percy,” said Mrs. Cole, looking a little distressed. “He’s a funny child. He’s always making his own plans.”

“Obstinate. That’s what I call it,” said Uncle Percy. “Damned obstinate.” He went out that morning alone. He thought that he would buy something for the kid, something really rich and impressive. It could not be that the boy disliked him, and yet ... All that morning he was haunted by the boy’s presence. Going to school to-morrow, was he? Not much time left for making an impression. He could not find anything that morning that would precisely do. Rotten shops, the Polchester ones. He would tip the boy handsomely to-morrow morning. No boy could resist that. Really handsomely—as he had never been tipped before.

Nothing further occurred to him, and that evening he was especially funny about his brother. That story of Herbert when he was round fifteen and quite a grown boy being afraid of a dog chained up in a yard, and how he, Percy, made Herbert go and stroke it. How Herbert trembled and how his knees shook! Oh! it was funny, it was indeed. You’d have roared had you seen it. Percy roared; roared until the table shook beneath him.

But to-night, for some reason or another, Herbert did not seem to mind. He laughed gently and admitted that he was still afraid of dogs—bulldogs especially. Uncle Percy had Jeremy in his mind all that evening; he caught him once again by the slack of his breeches and swung him in the air—just to show what a jolly pleasant uncle he was.

When Mrs. Cole explained that always on Jeremy’s last evening she read to him in the schoolroom after supper, he said that he would come too, and sat there in an easy chair, watching benevolently the children grouped in the firelight round their mother, while “The Chaplet of Pearls” unfolded its dramatic course. A charming picture! And the boy really looked delightful, gazing into the fire, his head against his mother’s knee. Uncle Percy almost wished that he himself had married. Nice to have children, a home, somewhere to come to; and so fell asleep, and soon was snoring so loudly that Mrs. Cole had to raise her voice.

Next morning there was all the bustle of Jeremy’s departure. This was not so dramatic as other departures had been, because Jeremy was now so thoroughly accustomed to school-going and, indeed, could not altogether conceal from the world at large that this was football-time, the time of his delight and pride and happiness.

He went as usual into his father’s study to say good-bye, but on this occasion, for some strange reason, there was no stiffness nor awkwardness. Both were at their ease as they had never been together before. Mr. Cole put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Mind you get into the football team,” he said.

“If I don’t you won’t mind, father, will you?” said Jeremy, looking very fine indeed in a new light-grey overcoat.

“I know you’ll do your best, my boy,” said Mr. Cole, and kissed him.

Outside in the hall, with the others, was Uncle Percy. He motioned to him mysteriously. “I say, kid, come here.”

Jeremy followed him into the dining-room, where they were alone. Uncle Percy shut the door.

“Here’s something for you, my boy, to take back to school. Buy something you want with it and remember your uncle isn’t such a bad sort after all.”

Jeremy crimsoned up to the tips of his ears. On the red palm of his uncle’s big hand there were lying three golden sovereigns.

“No, thank you, uncle.”

“What?”

“No, thank you, uncle. I’ve got——Father gave me——I don’t want——”

“You won’t take it? You won’t——?”

“No, thank you, uncle.”

“But what the devil——”

Jeremy turned away. His uncle caught him by the shoulder.

“Now, what’s all this about? A boy of your age refuse a tip? Now, what’s this mean?”

Jeremy wriggled himself free. Suddenly he said hotly: “Father’s as good as you, every bit as good. Even though you have been everywhere and he hasn’t. People like father awfully in Polchester, and they say his sermons are better than anybody’s. Father’s just as good as you are——I——” and then suddenly burst from the room.

Uncle Percy stood there. This may be said to have been the greatest shock of his life. The boy’s father? What was he talking about? The boy’s father? As good as he was? The boy hated him so much that he wouldn’t even take the money. Three pounds, and he wouldn’t take it! Wouldn’t take money from him because he hated him so! But hang it! Lord, how that dog was howling! What a horrible noise! What was he howling for? ... Wouldn’t take the money? But had anyone ever heard the like? ... But, hang it, three pounds!