None of these fiercer moods did the boy know;--what he knew was his uncle's merry side--his sympathetic, loving side,--and so, following up his advantage, he strode across the room, settled down on the arm of his uncle's chair, and put his arm about his shoulders.
"Won't you go and see her, please ?" he pleaded, patting his back, affectionately.
"What good will that do?
Hand me a match, Harry." "Everything--that's what I came for." "Not with Kate! She isn't a child--she's a woman," he echoed back between the puffs, his indignation again on the rise.

"And she is different from the girls about here," he added, tossing the burned match in the fire.

"When she once makes up her mind it stays made up." "Don't let her make it up! Go and see her and tell her how I love her and how miserable I am.

Tell her I'll never break another promise to her as long as I live.

Nobody ever holds out against you.