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"Uncle Arthur!"
Arthur lowers his axe. He's nearly halfway through the large pile of wood that's been laying beside the chopping block for the past few days. It seemed no one wanted to do the chore, so Arthur's taken it upon himself to get it done.
It's tiresome work, and so, Jack is a welcome distraction.
"Hey, Jack. What you been up to?"
Without a second of hesitation, Jack says, "I'm helping you," looking at Arthur with a sort of expectancy Arthur can't quite understand.
He looks between the axe in his hands and Jack, brows furrowing.
"How so?" he asks, tentative.
"I found some pretty rocks, down by the river, and I put them in the pretty box you and uncle Hosea put all those pretty necklaces and rings," Jack says with a smile, all proud and adorable. "In the box where all the pretty things go!"
Arthur chuckles, voice low. "Well, ain't you doin' a fine job today?"
He ruffles Jacks hair, blonde strands sticking out in a manner that makes him look like he just woke up. Except, as opposed to in the early morning, Jack's eyes are bright and wide, visage all sunshine and rosy cheeks.
For some reason, it's less of a gut-punch than it usually is.
Maybe it's because things have been well for the first time in a long while, or, maybe, Arthur's just in a good mood; Either way, Arthur feels the corners of his lips quirking upwards, as if pulled by invisible strings, eyes crinkling as he returns Jack's infective smile, turning to continue his chore.
Jack, however, is not finished with him and tugs on his leg. "You need to write it down!"
"Huh?" Arthur scratches at his beard.
"In that book you write stuff down in. You have to write my name and say that I put in the pretty rocks."
Arthur laughs, a thing from deep within his chest, and – with a gentle hand – pushes Jack towards the donation box.
"Let's go do that, then."
Jack runs a few steps ahead of him, feet damn near stumbling over each other in his excitement, and when Arthur reaches him, he's bouncing on his feet, impatient as always.
Jack grips the edge of the barrel the ledger is on, standing on his tippy toes in order to see what Arthur's doing, and watches with rapt attention – joy carved in the curve of his mouth, eyes glinting with elation – the way the pencil Arthur uses dances across the paper to spell 'Jack' in neat, even letters.
Arthur claps his shoulder. "You're a good kid."
Jack beams. "Thanks, uncle Arthur!"
And he's off, running towards whatever new thing he inexplicably finds exciting. Arthur shakes his head, chuckling to himself, and goes back to the chopping block and picks up the axe – what a joy that kid is.
A few hours later, Jack comes back, tugs at Arthur's pants in much the same way as before and holds out his hands to show off a plethora of wet pebbles, says, "Look, uncle Arthur, I found more pretty rocks!"
That night, some time after Jack has gone to bed, Susan makes Arthur throw a few dusin shiny rocks back into the river – he wouldn't have it any other way.