“I am glad—yes, proud, that my new grandchildren are half American. And now give me your hand, each one of you, and run along and play. I am old and tired, but, thank God, I am still alive and able to enjoy this last blessing of my life.”
One by one the four girls bowed their heads over the hand of the broken old eagle, pretending not to notice the two tears which trickled down her furrowed cheeks.
They smiled at the two Edwards, who stood like sentinels at the side of her chair, waved a gay salutation to Virginia and Georgiana coming toward them arm in arm, and all but collided with Mr. Ignatius Donahue following behind at a slower pace.
“Where are you running away to, my pretty maids?” he cried, spreading out his arms playfully to block their passage.
“This is our last day at Palm Beach, you know,” answered Billie. “We leave for home to-night, and we are going to ride out in the Comet to say good-bye to the Duffys.”
“And we are to have no more jolly picnics?” he asked.
“Not unless you come to West Haven, Mr. Donahue, and let us take you on a Comet picnic to Seven League Island.”
Mr. Donahue looked at them with that humorous, quizzical expression that they remembered to have noticed in his photograph.
“I’m going to have a picnic party myself in a few months,” he said, “and if that picnic comes off, you may see a private car backed upon a side track in West Haven, and you will know, if you do, that at the happiest period of my life I have come to spend a day with the four nice girls who helped to bring it about.”
“Why, what does he mean?” asked Elinor, as they hurried on to the hotel.