"Yes, 'course--there's always to-morrow; an' then,--I did find you, you
know, Uncle Porges."

"To be sure you did, and an uncle is better than nothing at all, isn't
he,--even if he is rather dusty and disreputable of exterior. One
doesn't find an uncle every day of one's life, my Porges, no sir!"

"An' you are so nice an' big, you know!" said Porges, viewing Bellew
with a bright, approving eye.

"Long, would be a better word, perhaps," suggested Bellew, smiling down
at him.

"An' wide, too!" nodded Small Porges. And, from these two facts he
seemed to derive a deal of solid comfort, and satisfaction for he strode
on manfully once more.

Leaving the high-road, he guided Bellew by divers winding paths, through
corn-fields, and over stiles, until, at length, they were come to an
orchard. Such an orchard as surely may only be found in Kent,--where
great apple-trees, gnarled, and knotted, shot out huge branches that
seemed to twist, and writhe; where were stately pear trees; where
peaches, and apricots, ripened against time-worn walls whose red bricks
still glowed rosily for all their years; where the air was sweet with
the scent of fruit, and fragrant with thyme, and sage, and marjoram; and
where the black-birds, bold marauders that they are, piped gloriously
all day long. In the midst of this orchard they stopped, and Small
Porges rested one hand against the rugged bole of a great, old
apple tree.