He was deliberate as ever in answering.
"You must not call me 'Mr. Jones,' hereafter," said he.
"Why not? Then, what shall I call you?" she returned, greatly perplexed.
"I think it would be more appropriate for you to call me 'Uncle Anson.'"
"Uncle Anson! Why, Uncle Anson is—is—"
She paused, utterly bewildered, but with a sudden suspicion that made her head whirl.
"It strikes me, Myrtle," said Uncle John, cheerfully, "that you have never been properly introduced to Mr. Jones. If I remember aright you scraped acquaintance with him and had no regular introduction. So I will now perform that agreeable office. Miss Myrtle Dean, allow me to present your uncle, Mr. Collanson B. Jones."
"Collanson!" repeated all the girls, in an astonished chorus.
"That is my name," said Mr. Jones, the first smile they had seen radiating his grim countenance. "All the folks at home, among them my sister Kitty—your mother, my dear—called me 'Anson'; and that is why, I suppose, old Martha Dean knew me only as your 'Uncle Anson.' Had she told you my name was Collanson you might have suspected earlier that 'C.B. Jones' was your lost uncle. Lost only because he was unable to find you, Myrtle. While you were journeying West in search of him he was journeying East. But I'm glad, for many reasons, that you did not know me. It gave me an opportunity to learn the sweetness of your character. Now I sincerely thank God that He led you to me, to reclaim me and give me something to live for. If you will permit me, my dear niece, I will hereafter devote my whole life to you, and earnestly try to promote your happiness."
During this long speech Myrtle had sat wide eyed and white, watching his face and marveling at the strangeness of her fate. But she was very, very glad, and young enough to quickly recover from the shock.
There was a round of applause from Patsy, Beth, the Major and Uncle John, which served admirably to cover their little friend's embarrassment and give her time to partially collect herself. Then she turned to Mr. Jones and with eyes swimming with tears tenderly kissed his furrowed cheek.
"Oh, Uncle Anson; I'm so happy!" she said.
Of course Myrtle's story is told, now. But it may be well to add that Uncle Anson did for her all that Uncle John had intended doing, and even more. The consultation with a famous New York specialist, on their return a month later, assured the girl that no painful operation was necessary. The splendid outing she had enjoyed, with the fine air of the far West, had built up her health to such an extent that nature remedied the ill she had suffered. Myrtle took no crutches back to New York—a city now visited for the first time in her life—nor did she ever need them again. The slight limp she now has will disappear in time, the doctors say, and the child is so radiantly happy that neither she nor her friends notice the limp at all.
Patsy Doyle, as owner of the pretty flat building on Willing Square, has rented to Uncle Anson the apartment just opposite that of the Doyles, and Mr. Jones has furnished it cosily to make a home for his niece, to whom he is so devoted that Patsy declares her own doting and adoring father is fairly outclassed.
The Major asserts this is absurd; but he has acquired a genuine friendship for Anson Jones, who is no longer sad but has grown lovable under Myrtle's beneficent influence.
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