"The Dunkelbergs!--the Dunkelbergs! Come quick!" it seemed to say.

Uncle had tied a red handkerchief around his neck and was readjusting
his galluses when I returned. In silence we hurried to the house. As we
drew near I heard the voice of Mrs. Horace Dunkelberg and that of
another woman quite as strange to my ear--a high-pitched voice of
melting amiability. It was the company voice of my Aunt Deel. I had
observed just a faint suggestion of it when the neighbors came, or when
meeting was over, but I had never before heard the full-fledged
angelicity of her company voice. It astonished me and I began to regard
her as a very promising old lady. Uncle Peabody, himself, had undergone
a change in the presence of the Dunkelbergs. He held his neck straighter
and smiled more and spoke with greater deliberation.

Mr. Dunkelberg was a big, broad-shouldered, solemn-looking man. Somehow
his face reminded me of a lion's which I had seen in one of my
picture-books. He had a thick, long, outstanding mustache and side
whiskers, and deep-set eyes and heavy eyebrows. He stood for half a
moment looking down at me from a great height with his right hand in his
pocket. I heard a little jingle of coins down where his hand was. It
excited my curiosity. He took a step toward me and I retreated. I
feared, a little, this big, lion-like man. My fears left me suddenly
when he spoke in a small squeaky voice that reminded me of the chirping
of a bird.

"Little boy, come here and I will make you a present," said he.

It reminded me of my disappointment when uncle tried to shoot his gun at
a squirrel and only the cap cracked.