She took my face between her hands, saying: 

“Silly child, there are some faces with faultless features, which would receive nothing more than an indifferent glance while beside other faces which might have few if any pretensions to beauty.  Yours is one of those last mentioned.”

“But that does not say I am not ugly.”

“No one would dream of calling you plain, let alone ugly; brilliant is the word which best describes you.”

Uncle Julius had the upper part of his ponderous figure arrayed in a frock-coat.  He did not take kindly to what he termed “those skittish sparrow-tailed affairs”.  Frock-coats suited him, but I am not partial to them on every one.  They look well enough on a podgy, fat, or broad man, but on a skinny one they hang with such a forlorn, dying-duck expression, that they invariably make me laugh.

Julius John Bossier, better known as J. J. Bossier, and better still as Jay-Jay—­big, fat, burly, broad, a jovial bachelor of forty, too fond of all the opposite sex ever to have settled his affections on one in particular—­was well known, respected, and liked from Wagga Wagga to Albury, Forbes to Dandaloo, Bourke to Hay, from Tumut to Monaro, and back again to Peak Hill, as a generous man, a straight goer in business matters, and a jolly good fellow all round.

I was very proud to call him uncle.

“So this is yourself, is it!” he exclaimed, giving me a tremendous hug.

“Oh, uncle,” I expostulated, ?? wipe your old kisses off Your breath smells horribly of whisky and tobacco.”

“Gammon, that’s what makes my kisses so nice!” he answered; and, after holding me at arm’s-length for inspection, “By George, you’re a wonderful-looking girl!  You’re surely not done growing yet, though!  You are such a little nipper.  I could put you in my pocket with ease.  You aren’t a scrap like your mother.  I’ll give the next shearer who passes a shilling to cut that hair off.  It would kill a dog in the hot weather.”

“Everard, this is my niece, Sybylla” (aunt Helen was introducing us).  “You will have to arrange yourselves—­what relation you are, and how to address each other.”

The admiration expressed in his clear sharp eyes gave me a sensation different to any I had ever experienced previously.

“I suppose I’m a kind of uncle and brother in one, and as either relationship entitles me to a kiss, I’m going to take one,” he said in a very gallant manner.

“You may take one if you can,” I said with mischievous defiance, springing off the veranda into the flower-garden.  He accepted my challenge, and, being lithe as a cat, a tremendous scamper ensued.  Round and round the flower-beds we ran.  Uncle Jay-Jay’s beard opened in a broad smile, which ended in a loud laugh.  Everard Grey’s coat-tails flew in the breeze he made, and his collar was too high for athletic purposes.  I laughed too, and was lost, and we returned to the veranda—­Everard in triumph, and I feeling very red and uncomfortable.