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 told Michael, that lovely red-headed Michael, that I couldn't hob-nob—whatever that is—with any Tom, Dick, or Harry who was in the square. Didn't you, Uncle Joe?"

It pleased the old gentleman that she still retained her familiar name for him, and he lifted her tenderly to his breast, replying:

"Yes, little lassie, I did; but that was before I knew these were real children who were coming to live in my house yonder. Such boys as are brought up by this gentleman, and your own cousins—why, of course, it's different."

From her safe place within the first uncle's arms, she questioned the younger man:

"Have you got all those to your house, Uncle Joe?"

"Yes, little girl. Will you come and live with them when we all move to that pretty house on the corner?" he responded.

Her arm went around her first friend's neck, and he now didn't fret in the least because it rumpled his fresh linen, as she cuddled her cheek against his, and asked: