“Would you like to ride?”
“You are very kind.”
The man climbed into the wagon, and suddenly grasping his head with a groan, fainted dead away.
“Oh, mercy, what shall we do, Uncle Peter? Take him home?”
“We’ll have to, little Missy. We cyant car’ him to the hotel.”
The long-suffering Alexander once again turned his face toward the house and trotted patiently up the avenue. Perhaps he thought he was not to take his usual early morning trip to Palm Beach. By the time they had reached the end of the avenue, the man opened his eyes.
“Where am I?” he asked.
“This is my home,” said the young girl. “My name is Virginia l’Estrange. You had better stay here until you feel better. You will look after him, won’t you please, Mammy?” she said to the colored woman who had come around the side of the house at the sound of approaching wheels. “This gentleman is ill.”
“Virginia l’Estrange,” repeated the man, getting slowly out of the wagon with the help of the two old colored people. “Virginia,” he said again, presently, stretching himself wearily on the long sofa while the colored woman bound a wet cloth about his forehead.
In the meantime, Virginia, herself, rocking gently back and forth, was again on her way to the hotel.