Before she could fairly enter the place, her father, who was affectionately watching her, said:
“I guess you would better not go in there, Nellie; it’s growing late and is time you prepared for bed.”
“I’ll fix a place for her,” said Ortigies; “we ain’t much on style here, but I can manage to make her comfortable.”
“But will it not discommode you?”
“That little gal can’t discommode any one in New Constantinople; if she would prefer to have me go out and sleep in the snow, I’ll be glad to do it.”
“I’ve just the place for her,” interposed Wade Ruggles; “couldn’t be better if I had taken a week to get it ready.”
“Can’t begin with my quarters,” Felix Brush hastened to say, and there would have been a general wrangle for the privilege of accommodating the little one, had not her father, seeing how matters were going, smilingly raised his hand in protest.
“I cannot tell you, my friends, how much I thank you all for your kindness. Ah, if my poor wife could have held out until she reached here, but that was not to be. I shall be glad to stay with Mr. Ortigies to-night, and with your permission shall remain for a few days in your settlement. I have lost everything I owned in the world, and will need some time to decide what is best to do. Our stay in New Constantinople will give all a 28 better chance to get acquainted with Nellie. I’ll surrender her to you until you get tired of her.”
“Get tired of her!” repeated Vose Adams, voicing the sentiments of all; “we’re not the kind of galoots to git tired of an angel.”