"No, he isn't, Joan!" Doris took up cudgels for the absent Cameron. "You mustn't get that idea. He's the most humble of fellows—but he has a vision. David says he plods along after his dreams and ideals, but when he grips them—well, he grips! I see now how right he was about Nancy and Ken. They are suited to each other."
"Yes—they're the carrying-on sort, Aunt Dorrie"; Joan looked wise and confident. "They're like their kind—Nan is like you. Away back in the Dondale days she used to gloat over all that went to your making, all your grandfathers and grandmothers. She was fore-ordained to carry on, and so was Ken. They'd be done for on paths without signboards. Aunt Dorrie——"
"Yes, dear."
"I wonder why it was in me to—to well, not to carry on?"
Doris bent and laid her thin, fair cheek against the short, bright hair again.
"Your way, little girl," she whispered, "was to fly. You had to try wings."
"Well, I'm a homing pigeon, I reckon." And Joan tossed her short hair back.
Just then there was the toot of a horn outside.
"Uncle David!" Joan exclaimed, jumping up; "and by the manner of his toot I get an impression of exhilaration.
"Hello, Uncle Davey!" For Martin was filling the long window with his big presence.