He said a great many other things, did the likhnè-wālā, and the name he signed at the end of his letter was one well known to Uncle Gerald as the author of certain books he knew and cared for.
The week dragged on. It rained a lot and the days were long for Ronnie in the seaside lodgings. He kept count of the days, though, and at last it reached the sixth day from the time he met the likhnè-wālā, and no answer had come to his letter. Yet he never doubted him. He was convinced that somehow or other his letter would reach Uncle Gerald.
It was on Monday he had met the likhnè-wālā, and on Saturday evening after tea it cleared up and they went out to the sands. They were to return to Golder’s Green next week, and Ronnie dreaded it unspeakably, for he felt that if nothing happened before he did that, then he was indeed abandoned and forlorn. Cedric and Githa would not let him dig with them because his methods were too erratic. Miss Biddle had finished _The Blue Necklace_, and started on _Love is a Snare_, and found it equally enthralling.
Ronnie was digging by himself, a lonely little figure apart from the rest, and talking to himself as he worked. He had built a bungalow, and had just flattened out the compound round about it, and was beginning on the servants’ quarters, when he looked up to see a solitary figure coming across the ribbed and glistening sand. The tide was out, and there seemed miles of beach between him and the sea. They had had their tea extra early, and the beach was almost deserted, for it was just five o’clock. Ronnie watched the distant figure, and his heart seemed to jump up and turn over, for there was something dear and familiar about it, and yet ... he didn’t dare to hope.
Then suddenly his long sight told him there was no mistake. It was, it _was_ the Uncle Gerald of his hopes and dreams! He started to run, and the figure made the glad assurance doubly sure by taking off its hat and waving it. Then Ronnie saw the dear, tall forehead, that, as he once pointed out to his uncle, "went right over to the back"; after that there could be no mistake.
"I never thought you would come," he said, safe in the shelter of those kind arms, "and if you did I always thought all the dogs would be bound to come too."