“Hello, Uncle George!” Temple, as has been said, was Uncle George to every girl and youth in Kennedy Square.

“Why, Harry!” He had sprung from his seat, napkin in hand and had him by both shoulders, looking into his eyes as if he wanted to hug him, and would the first thing he knew.  “Where are you from—­Moorlands?  What a rollicking chap you are, and you look so well and handsome, you dog!  And now tell me of your dear mother and your father.  But first down with you—­here—­right opposite—­always your place, my dear Harry.  Todd, another shell of oysters and more waffles and coffee—­everything, Todd, and blazing hot:  two shells, Todd—­the sight of you, Harry, makes me ravenous again, and I could have eaten my boots, when I got home an hour ago, I was so hungry.  But the mare”—­here he moved to the window—­“is she all right?  Spitfire, I suppose—­you’d kill anything else, you rascal!  But you haven’t tied her!”

“No—­never tie her—­break her heart if I did.  Todd, hang up this coat and hat in the hall before you go.”

“That’s what you said of that horse you bought of Hampson—­ran away, didn’t he?” persisted his host, his eyes on the mare, which had now become quiet.

“Yes, and broke his leg.  But Spitfire’s all right—­she’ll stand.  Where will I sit—­here?  And now what kind of a time did you have, and who were with you?”

“Clayton, Doctor Teackle, and the judge.”

“And how many ducks did you get?” and he dropped into his chair.

“Twenty-one,” answered St. George, dry-washing his white shapely hands, as he took his seat—­a habit of his when greatly pleased.

“All canvas-backs?”

“No—­five redheads and a mallard.”

“Where did you put up?” echoed Harry, loosening his riding-jacket to give his knife and fork freer play.

“I spent a week at Tom Coston’s and a week at Craddock.  Another lump of sugar, Todd.”

The boy laughed gently:  “Lazy Tom’s?”

“Lazy Tom’s—­and the best-hearted fellow in the world.  They’re going to make him a judge, they say and—­”

“—­What of—­peach brandy?  No cream in mine, Todd.”

“No—­you scurrilous dog—­of the Common Court,” retorted St. George, looking at him over the top of his cup.  “Very good lawyer is Tom—­got horse sense and can speak the truth—­make a very good judge.”

Again Harry laughed—­rather a forced laugh this time, as if he were trying to make himself agreeable but with so anxious a ring through it that Todd busied himself about the table before going below for fresh supplies, making excuse of collecting the used dishes.  If there were to be any revelations concerning the situation at the Seymour house, he did not intend to miss any part of them.

“Better put Mrs. Coston on the bench and set Tom to rocking the cradle,” said the young man, reaching for the plate of corn pone.  “She’s a thoroughbred if ever I saw one, and does credit to her blood.  But go on—­tell me about the birds.  Are they flying high?—­and the duck blinds; have they fixed them up?  They were all going to pot when I was there last.”