"It ain't only because yer a sweet, plucky girl that I've loved ye," he went on. "It's because ye make me think of——" there was a break in his voice. "Ye know, we had a little girl once and—we lost her. She was only three years old when she—went away. That ain't very old, is it? But, say, she had the cinches around our hearts all right! I can see her now, in her blue dress, with her little hands full o' flowers. She had eyes like yours, Betty, and a pretty way—like yours and——" the grim, old fellow stopped and wiped his eyes. "Well, I guess ye understand now why I'd do 'most anything in the world to make you happy."
"I've been so foolish, so extravagant," she murmured in distressed self-reproach.
"Not a bit! All I want ye to do is to ease up a few notches until——"
"And you've been hard pressed for money. Oh, if I could only help you! I will help you. I'll work. Yes, I mean it. I can earn money with my singing and—besides, I'm practical. I can use a typewriter—I could be your secretary, Guardy. I'm sure I could. Would you let me try? Please let me."
"Holy cats!" exclaimed Baxter. "Is there anything an American girl won't think of? I'm proud of ye, Betty, fer wantin' to do it, but it ain't necessary. You just stay with us like one of the family."
"No, no! There are too many staying with you like one of the family. I'm going to be your secretary, that is," her face fell, "unless you have one already?"
"I had one in New York, but I didn't bring her over because—the fact is, there was a leak in the office and—I fired her."
"Then you need some one to help you?" cried Betty eagerly. "And I do know about business—at least I can learn and—I can do what I'm told. Please, Guardy."
Betty's whole soul was in the words and, for many a day, Hiram Baxter remembered the loving radiance that illumined her face as she held out her hands in a sweet impulse to help.
"Yer a little thoroughbred, all right," he reflected. "And I could trust ye. That's a whole lot more'n I can say of the last one. Hm!"