“There, there, kitten, don’t cry; Mr. Dale may get better, and the girls may be able to bring him down for a long visit some time—who knows?” said the kindly Colonel, who was already planning in his mind how he could defray the expenses, should such a journey be possible. “We will all have some happy times together again, Nannie; you’ll see, little girl.”
THE GIRL SAT DOWN ON THE ARM OF HIS CHAIR
Nan heaved a sigh and was comforted. It is easy to be sanguine at seventeen.
Suddenly she exclaimed: “Do you know what?” sitting up and revealing a tear-stained face and two brimming brown eyes which she rubbed with the Colonel’s handkerchief, her own having long since been reduced to a damp little ball; “I’m going to write to the girls not to mind a thing mummie writes them, for she really loves them just the same, and you and I love them heaps more—if such a thing is possible—and think about them and just hope with all our might and main that Cousin Dale will be better, and they won’t have to work themselves to death. Oh, don’t I just wish I could help them!” “Pa!” she cried in a sudden inspiration, “you know the new saddle you were going to give me for my birthday?”
“Yes, Nannie.”
“Well, you have not bought it, have you? and I don’t want it—I want you to send the money to the girls instead.”