ch gave it a character of more importance than perhaps
its real size warranted. When John approached there ran out to meet him
into the wide gravel drive before the door a little figure upon two
sturdy legs, calling out, in inarticulate shoutings, something that
sounded a little like his own name. It was, "'tle John! 'tle John!"
made into a sort of song by the baby, nearly two years old, and "very
forward," as everybody assured the stranger, for his age. Uncle John!
his place was thus determined at once by that little potentate and
master of the house. Behind the child came Elinor, no longer pale and
languid as he had seen her last, but matured into vigorous beauty,
bright-eyed, a little sober, as might have become maturer years than
hers. Perhaps there was something in the style of her dress that
favoured the idea, not of age indeed, but of matronly years, and beyond
those which Elinor counted. She was dressed in black, of the simplest
description, not of distinctive character like a widow's, yet something
like what an ideal widow beyond fashion or conventionalities of woe
might wear. It seemed to give John the key-note of the character she had
assumed in this new sphere.

Mrs. Dennistoun, who had not changed in the least, stood in the open
door. They gave him a welcome such as John had not had, he said to
himself, since he had seen them before. They were unfeignedly glad to
see him, not wounded (which, to think of afterwards, wounded him a
little) that he had not come sooner, but delighted that he was here now.
Even when he went home it was not usual to John to be met at the door in
this way by all his belongings. His sister might come running down the
stairs when she heard the dog-cart draw up, but that was all. And Mary's
eagerness to see him was generally tempered by the advice she had to
give, to say that or not to say this, because of papa. But in the
present case it was the sight of himself which was delightful to all,
and, above all, though the child could have no reason for it, to the
little shouting excited boy. "'Tle John! 'tle John!" What was Uncle John
to him? yet his little voice filled the room with shouts of joy.

"What does he know about me, the little beggar, that he makes such a
noise in my honour?" said John, touched in spite of himself. "But I
suppose anything is good enough for a cry at that age."

"Come," said Elinor, "you are not to be contemptuous of my boy any
longer. You called him _it_ whe