"Yes, Alicia," I lowered my voice, "but when that man comes, how it will hurt to think of little Jimmie, of all those children of my sister's in the care of that man who's really her—her murderer!"
"Please, please, don't think of that!" she begged, with imploring eyes. "That hasn't happened yet. And we'll—we'll manage it somehow. Maybe he's a good man, after all—and, oh; we'll watch him—we'll watch him! Besides, he mayn't come. If he is what you think, then I am sure he won't come!"
That proved a very cheering thought.
Before I knew it, I was myself tossing a ball with Alicia and romping with the rest of them.
It was only after the lunch had been eaten under the trees and the egg shells and papers were gathered and stowed away, and the gawky boy proceeded clumsily to monopolize Alicia, who has not the heart to snub anybody, that my depression returned.
Whereupon Alicia gayly proposed that it was time to think of going home, because Jimmie was drowsy and must not forego his nap.
Was it adroitness or spontaneity? I cannot tell, but it is marvelous how that girl anticipates and understands.
It was a happy, tired, air-steeped company that returned home.
A telegram has just arrived. Dibdin and Pendleton have landed in San Francisco!...
CHAPTER XIV