The first day that he was well enough to sit out on the porch was a great event.  The children, who before had made only shy, fleeting visits to his room with “little handfuls of bokays,” as their mother said, were as excited and elated over his appearance as though it reflected some credit on themselves.  Indeed, J.M. found that he was the subject of unaccountable pride to all the family, and one of the first of those decisions of his between McCartey and Loyette occurred that very morning.  The Loyette children insisted on being included in the rejoicing over the convalescent’s step forward, and soon Pierre, the oldest boy, was haled before J.M. himself to account for his having dared to use the McCartey name for the sick man.

“You’re not his Uncle Jerry, are you?” demanded Mike McCartey.

J.M. thought that now was the time to repress the too exuberant McCartey familiarity.  “I’m his Uncle Jerry just as much as I am yours!” he said severely.

It took him a whole day to understand the jubilant triumph of the French-Canadians and to realize that he had apparently not only upheld the McCarteys in their preposterous nickname, but that he had added all the black-eyed Loyettes to his new family.  Mrs. McCartey said to him that evening, with an innocent misconception of the situation, “Sure an’ mustn’t it sound fine to you, that name, when you’ve no kith of your own.”  J.M. realized that that speech broke down the last bridge of retreat into his forsaken dignity.  It is worthy of note that as he lay in bed that evening, meditating upon it, he suddenly broke into a little laugh of utter amusement, such as the assistants at Middletown Library had never heard from his lips.

The rapidity with which he was fitted into the routine of the place took his breath away.  At first when he sat on the porch, which was the common ground of all the families, either Mrs. McCartey or Mrs. Loyette sewed near him to keep an eye on the children, but, as his strength came back, they made him, with a sigh of relief, their substitute, and disappeared into the house about neglected housework.  “Oh, ain’t it lovely now!” cried Mrs. McCartey to Mrs. Loyette, “to have an old person of your own about the place that you can leave the children with a half-minute, while you snatch the wash-boiler off the fire or keep the baby from cuttin’ her throat with the butcher-knife.”

Mrs. Loyette agreed, shaking her sleek black head a great many times in emphasis.  “Zose pipple,” she added, “zose lucky pipple who have all zere old pipple wiz zem, they can not know how hard is eet to be a mozzer, wizout a one grand’mere, or oncle.”