“Perhaps.”
“Oh, do say always,” she begged; “and let Harold be my brother; then I’ll not be the middle one any more, and I’ll try—oh, Harold! I will try to be as much like a boy as I can, and as mamma will let me. I’ll play anything you like to have me. I’ll climb trees and all; and I’ll even try not to be afraid of cows.”
Mrs. Ford could but smile; but she added more comforting words till Harold at last lifted his head and said: “Where is Don? I want Don.” And Mabel, delighted to be able to do something, flew to bring the dear dog, and with Don hugged up close to him Harold, after a while, fell asleep.
It was warm, mild May weather, and Mabel, too excited to sleep, crept to the window to watch for her father that night, for she felt that he would, perhaps, be able to decide upon the truth of the report they had heard, and besides, her mother had said, that if it were not too late, he would go down to the club, and gather particulars. But it was very late; a meeting of some kind had kept him at the university, and Mabel grew very weary, before she saw his familiar form coming in at the gate.
She crept softly down stairs, and entered her mother’s room in time to hear Mr. Ford say, as he looked at his watch: “I am afraid it is too late to-night to do anything, but I will inquire into the matter the very first thing in the morning. Poor little fellow. I hope he will sleep soundly. His father was all in all to him.”
“Don’t say was,” said Mrs. Ford, “for I do not quite believe the report.”
Mr. Ford shook his head. “I wouldn’t be too sanguine,” he returned. “You say Harold told you his father generally called him Harry?”
“Yes, that is the part which makes it seem as if there were no mistake.”
“And can’t Harold stay here always?” Mabel asked, as her father lifted her to his knee.
“That will be as his aunt says. We have no right to decide upon that. You will still have to be our boy, I think,” he said, smiling, for it had always been a joke between Mabel and her father, that of her being the boy of the family, and Mabel liked to be called “Phil,” for she always insisted that she ought to have had her father’s name.