He loved his niece.

He loved her for the sake of his dead brother, and as she grew in years, he came to love her for herself.

Her sturdy independent fearlessness, her sound sense, her honest heart, and chiefly, if it must be told, her whole-souled devotion to himself, made for her a great space in his heart.

And besides all this, they were both interested to the point of devotion in pigs.

As he watched his niece handling the little sucklings with tender care, and listened to her appraising their varying merits with a discriminating judgment, his heart filled up with pride in her many accomplishments and capabilities.
"Isn't she happy, Uncle ?" she exclaimed, lifting her brown, sunny face to him.
"Ay, lassie," replied Sir Archibald, lapsing into the kindly "braid Scots," "I ken fine how she feels." "She's just perfectly happy," said his niece, "and awfully useful and good.