“No.”
“Would your father consider it if it did come in?”
“I don’t know what he would do, Dave. Of course, he’d hate to give up money to a thief; but, just the same, he’d hate it worse if he never got the miniatures back.”
At last came the time for Dave to leave home. His trunk had been packed and shipped on ahead. There was still considerable snow on the ground; so he was taken to the depot in the big Wadsworth sleigh, the girls and his father accompanying him.
“Good-bye, Davy, my boy!” cried his Uncle Dunston, when he was ready to leave the house. “Now I expect you to give a good account of yourself while with that construction company.”
“I’ll do what I can,” he answered.
“And do keep away from the Mexicans,” added Mrs. Wadsworth with a sigh.
“You trust David to do the right thing,” came from old Caspar Potts, his mellow eyes beaming 189 brightly. “David is all right. He’s my boy, and I’m proud of him,” and he nodded his head over and over again.
For the girls, the drive to the depot was all too short. Laura had so many things to say to her brother that she hardly knew what to speak of first. As for poor Jessie, she felt so bad she could scarcely speak, and when she looked at Dave there were unbidden tears in her eyes.
“Now don’t look at it that way,” David whispered, when he caught sight of the tears. “I’ll be back again before a great while.”