"If you _are_ Uncle Joshua, I beg your pardon I'm sure," said Tom
with his usual frankness. "Won't you shake hands, Uncle Joshua?"

Uncle Joshua took the thin, delicate hand in his own brown palm, and
looked at it curiously.

"Jes' as Hepsy said--Hetty's boy's more for ornament than use. Well,
youngster, now you're here ye'll work for yer bread, I hope. We're
poor folks here, an' can't keep idle hands. Ye'll hev to learn to
mind a team like this."

"I wouldn't mind if I'd a better horse, Uncle Josh," said Tom,
walking alongside of his uncle, and eying the hungry-looking steed
critically. "See his ribs. Don't you feed him ever, Uncle Josh?"

The man's face flushed angrily. "Shut up, younker!" he said savagely.
"Don't speak about things ye know nothing about."

Tom walked on a minute or two in silence, but in no way disconcerted.

"This is a very nice place, Uncle Josh," he said. "Mamma often told
us about it, but it's prettier than I thought it would be."

"The place'll do, I reckon," admitted Uncle Josh. "But farmin' ain't
what it was. It's a hard job gettin' meat an' drink out o'd
now-a-days."

"Mamma told us you were rich," said Tom in surprise. "But you can't
be, because--because--"