you please?"

George Bellew sat up suddenly, and smiled; Bellew's smile was, at all
times, wonderfully pleasant to see, at least, the boy thought so.

"Georgy Porgy," said he, "you can just bet your small life, I will,--and
there's my hand on it, old chap." Bellew's lips were solemn now, but all
the best of his smile seemed, somehow, to have got into his gray eyes.
So the big hand clasped the small one, and as they looked at each other,
there sprang up a certain understanding that was to be an enduring bond
between them.

"I think," said Bellew, as he lay, and puffed at his pipe again, "I
think I'll call you Porges, it's shorter, easier, and I think,
altogether apt; I'll be Big Porges, and you shall be Small Porges,--what
do you say?"

"Yes, it's lots better than Georgy Porgy," nodded the boy. And so Small
Porges he became, thenceforth. "But," said he, after a thoughtful pause,
"I think, if you don't mind, I'd rather call you----Uncle Porges. You
see, Dick Bennet--the black-smith's boy, has three uncles an' I've only
got a single aunt,--so, if you don't mind--"

"Uncle Porges it shall be, now and for ever, Amen!" murmured Bellew.

"An' when d'you s'pose we'd better start?" enquired Small Porges,
beginning to re-tie his bundle.

"Start where, nephew?"