Mr. Barlow led Inna to her seat, and saw her comfortable there, taking his own chair beside her, while Oscar sat with his back to the fire--like a cat on a frosty night, Mr. Barlow told him. Inna wondered where her uncle was, but asked no questions as yet--only munched away at her toast in her dainty way, and sipped her tea, trying hard to feel that she was at home. As for Oscar, he made such sloppy work with the urn, that Mr. Barlow had to say presently--
"Don't make a sea of the table, boy. You see what incapable creatures we are, Miss Inna. I never could make tea, and your own eyes tell you what Oscar can do."
"I suppose Uncle Jonathan makes tea when he is here," was Inna's reply.
At which the two gentlemen looked comically at each other.
"Well, I can't say I ever saw the doctor come down from the clouds enough for that," observed Mr. Barlow dryly; "but I hope his little great-niece--am I right in the pedigree, Oscar?--will set us to rights, and bring in the age of civilisation for us."
Inna could but laugh a tinkling laugh at this, and asked timidly, "Do you live here, Mr. Barlow?"
"No, dear; but I'm here morning, noon, and night. My head-quarters are at Mrs. Tussell's, whose name ought to be, now, guess what?"
People must suppose she had an aptitude for guessing, Inna thought, and asked with rosy cheeks was it "Fussy"?
"Just the word; only you mustn't tell her so," was the reply; at which Inna shook her head, and said she could not be so rude. Then came the sound of the doctor's gig outside the house, a step and a voice in the passage.
"He'll not come in here, dear," Mr. Barlow told Inna, seeing her start and change colour; "he'll have a cup of tea in his den, as we call it," at which Oscar nodded, and said, "And a good name too!"
Tea over, Mr. Barlow rose, and said "Good-bye for to-night, Miss Inna; David is going to Jonathan," patted her head, and was gone.
"Is his real name David?" she asked shyly of this cousin she had no idea of finding at Uncle Jonathan's; nor had her mamma either, she decided in her own mind.
"No; William--Billy Barlow they call him in the village, only I didn't say so just now," returned Oscar drily.
"Mind your lessons, Master Oscar," said Mrs. Grant, when she came in to fetch the tea equipage.