"Joey couldn't come," explained the Angel, mournfully.
"It was to tell you about him, ma'am, I stepped around," replied the man, gazing admiringly about the bright room, with its pictures, its growing plants, its tables, and dozens of little red chairs. "It is a pretty place now, I must say, and it's no wonder the little chap likes to come here. He's been that worried, and fretting so about the little one not getting to school, that I promised him I'd march her 'round here every day if he'd call a halt on his fretting."
"He is sick, then?" Miss Ruth inquired.
"Well, it didn't seem as if it was enough to lay him off duty," responded the man, as he regarded Miss Ruth with friendly gaze; "he's a knowin' little shaver, the Major is, and great on tryin' to help me."
"Are you the friend that he calls Old G. A. R.?" inquired Miss Ruth, with sudden intuition, as she smiled back into the weather-beaten face.
The old soldier chuckled. "He's told you about that, has he? 'Old G. A. R.!' Great name, ain't it?"
"Why does he call you by it?"
"Grand Army of the Republic, ma'am. I'm a member, and I reckon I do anecdote about it overmuch at times. The Reg'ment round there, they dubbed me that."
"And the Major?"