“Porges,” nodded Bellew.

“I wasn’t aware,” began Mr. Cassilis, “that—­er—­George was so very fortunate—­”

“Baptismal name—­George,” continued Bellew, “lately of New York, Newport, and—­er—­other places in America, U.S.A., at present of Nowhere-in-Particular.”

“Ah!” said Mr. Cassilis, his eyes seeming to grow a trifle nearer together, “an American Uncle?  Still, I was not aware of even that relationship.”

“It is a singularly pleasing thought,” smiled Bellew, “to know that we may learn something every day,—­that one never knows what the day may bring forth; to-morrow, for instance, you also may find yourself a nephew—­somewhere or other, though, personally, I—­er doubt it, yes, I greatly doubt it; still, one never knows, you know, and while there’s life, there’s hope.  A very good afternoon to you, sir.  Come, nephew mine, the evening falls apace, and I grow aweary,—­let us on—­Excelsior!”

Mr. Cassilis’s cheek grew suddenly red, he twirled his moustache angrily, and seemed about to speak, then he smiled instead, and turning his horse, spurred him savagely, and galloped back down the road in a cloud of dust.

“Did you see his teeth, Uncle Porges?”

“I did.”

“He only smiles like that when he’s awful’ angry,” said Small Porges shaking his head as the galloping hoof-strokes died away in the distance, “An’ what do you s’pose he went back for?”

“Well, Porges, it’s in my mind that he has gone back to warn our Auntie Anthea of our coming.”

Small Porges sighed, and his feet dragged in the dust.

“Tired, my Porges?”

“Just a bit, you know,—­but it isn’t that.  I was thinking that the day has almost gone, an’ I haven’t found a bit of the fortune yet.”

“Why there’s always to-morrow to live for, my Porges.”

“Yes, ‘course—­there’s always to-morrow; an’ then,—­I did find you, you know, Uncle Porges.”

“To be sure you did, and an uncle is better than nothing at all, isn’t he,—­even if he is rather dusty and disreputable of exterior.  One doesn’t find an uncle every day of one’s life, my Porges, no sir!”

“An’ you are so nice an’ big, you know!” said Porges, viewing Bellew with a bright, approving eye.

“Long, would be a better word, perhaps,” suggested Bellew, smiling down at him.

“An’ wide, too!” nodded Small Porges.  And, from these two facts he seemed to derive a deal of solid comfort, and satisfaction for he strode on manfully once more.

Leaving the high-road, he guided Bellew by divers winding paths, through corn-fields, and over stiles, until, at length, they were come to an orchard.  Such an orchard as surely may only be found in Kent,—­where great apple-trees, gnarled, and knotted, shot out huge branches that seemed to twist, and writhe; where were stately pear trees; where peaches, and apricots, ripened against time-worn walls whose red bricks still glowed rosily for all their years; where the air was sweet with the scent of fruit, and fragrant with thyme, and sage, and marjoram; and where the black-birds, bold marauders that they are, piped gloriously all day long.  In the midst of this orchard they stopped, and Small Porges rested one hand against the rugged bole of a great, old apple tree.