“Well, I don’t think that is Horace’s way, in the least; though I wouldn’t have you suppose I ever think, the least in the world, about what Horace says concerning my never being left to want.  My own aunts will take care of that.”

“And should they fail you, my dear,” cried Marble, with strong feeling, “your own uncle would step into their places, without waiting to have his memory jogged.”

Again Kitty looked surprised, a very little startled, and again she pressed to my side.

“I have no uncle,” she answered, timidly.  “Father never had a brother, and grandmother’s son is dead.”

“No, Kitty,” I said, giving a look at Marble to keep him quiet; “in the last you are mistaken.  This is the good news of which we spoke.  Your grandmother’s son is not dead, but living, and in good health.  He is found, acknowledged, has passed the afternoon with your grandmother, has money more than enough to satisfy even the unjust demand of the miserly Van Tassel, and will be a father to you.”

“Oh! dear me—­can this be true!” exclaimed Kitty, pressing still closer than ever to my side.  “And are you uncle after all, and will it all come out as you say?  Poor, poor grandmother, and I not at home to hear it all, and to help her under such a great trial!”

“Your grandmother was a little distressed of course, at first, but she bore it all remarkably well, and is as happy at this moment, as you yourself could wish her to be.  You are under a mistake, however, in supposing I am your uncle—­do I look old enough to be your mother’s brother?

“Dear me, no—­I might have seen that, hadn’t I been so silly—­can it be this other gentleman?”

Here Marble took his hint from nature, and clasping the pretty young creature in his arms, he kissed her with an affection and warmth that were truly paternal.  Poor Kitty was frightened at first, and I dare say, like her grandmother in a slight degree disappointed; but there was so much heartiness in the mate’s manner, that it reassured her in degree.

“I’m a bloody poor uncle, I know, Kitty, for a young woman like you to own,” Marble got out, though sorely tempted to blubber; “but there’s worse in the world, as you’ll discover, no doubt, in time.  Such as I am, you must take me, and, from this time henceforth, do not care a strap for old Van Tassel, or any other griping vagabond like him in York state.”

“Uncle is a sailor!” Kitty answered, after being fairly released from the mate’s rough embrace.  “Grandmother heard once that he was a soldier.”

“Ay, that comes of lying.  I don’t think they could have made a soldier of me, had two wicked nurses run away with me, and had they placed me on fifty tombstones, by way of commencing life.  My natur’ would revolt at carrying a musket, for sartain, while the seas have always been a sort of home to me.”

Kitty made no answer to this, being a little in doubt, I believe, as to the manner in which she was to regard this new acquisition of an uncle.