I mean, I could not write about it." "You would talk of it if she were here--you would, I am sure." "Yes, that's different--I suppose, I would," he returned.

She was struck with this as being like what James Penhallow would have said and have, or not have, done.
"If you have finished, John, I think your uncle wants you." "Why didn't you tell me, aunt ?" he said, as he got up in haste.
"Oh, boys must be fed," she cried.

She too rose from her seat, and went around the table and kissed him again, saying, "You are more and more like my captain, John." Being a woman, as John was well aware, not given to express approval of what were merely acts of duty, he was surprised at what was, for her, excess of praise; nor was she as much given to kissing, as are many women.

The lad felt, therefore, that what she thus said and did was unusual, and was what his Uncle Jim called one of Ann's rarely conferred brevets of affection.
"Yes," she repeated, "you are like him." "What! I like Uncle Jim! I wish I were." "Now go," she said, giving him a gentle push.

She was shyly aware of a lapse into unhabitual emotion and of some closer approach to the maternal relation fostered by his growing resemblance to James Penhallow.
"So," laughed his uncle as John entered the library, "you have burned down the school and are on a holiday--you and Rivers." John grinned.