"He's a sickly child," the matron added in a whisper to Dick. "I'm afraid he never will be strong. He has such queer fancies at times. His mother is a widow and goes out washing. The sister stays home and takes care of her little brother. It was a real charity that they could come, and I'm sure the committee doesn't know how to thank you for your generosity."
"Oh, pshaw! That's nothing," replied Dick, blushing like a girl at the praise. "I ought to do something with my money. I'm glad I heard about this fresh-air plan. I'll have some of the youngsters out next year if——"
Then he stopped. He happened to think that if his investments did not succeed he would not have much money to spend the next year, and, besides, he might be living with his Uncle Ezra at Dankville.
But the matron did not notice his hesitation, for, at that moment, the stage turned into the drive leading up to Sunnyside, and Dick was besieged by several inquiries.
"Say, mister, is dis a park?" asked one boy, as he saw the well-kept drive.
"No, this is the place where you are going to stay," Dick replied.
"Can we get out an' walk?" asked another, and this seemed to strike a popular chord, for that request became general. The matron nodded an assent and the children jumped out of the stage, some boys going by way of the windows.
"You can drive on and tell them we are coming," said Dick to the driver.
"Oh, I guess they'll know it fast enough," responded the man, with a grin. "You can hear them kids a mile."
Which was true enough, for the boys and girls were fairly yelling in pure delight. Dick and the matron walked on behind the crowd, the millionaire's son watching with interest the antics of the waifs.