Four days had passed since the exciting happenings of that eventful day that had begun with the disappearance of José, and had ended with his discovery.
“I have much to be thankful for,” said the major to Miss Sallie, who was reclining in a steamer chair on the piazza. She had not left her bed until the afternoon of the third day, and was still a little shaky and nervous.
“I can’t think what they are, John,” she replied severely. “You have had nothing but misfortunes since we came to stay under your roof. I hope they may end when we leave.”
“The first one,” said the major, smiling good-humoredly, “is that I have had the privilege of knowing how splendid American women can be in time of danger. I always admired the women of my country, but never so much as now,” he added, looking fondly at his old friend.
“Yes,” assented Miss Sallie proudly, “my girls are about as fine as any to be found in the world, I think. They are wholesome, sensible, and never cowardly. Undoubtedly they saved Ten Eyck Hall for you, Major, by their combined efforts, and by Bab’s bravery in watering the roof when the sparks began to fly.”
“You were just as wonderful as the girls, Sallie, my dear. They tell me you superintended the digging of the trench and managed your men with the coolness of a general; and that when the fire leaped over the trench you were there with the bucket brigade to put it out. The girls were no whit less courageous in your day than they are now, Sallie.”
“And what is the second blessing you have to be thankful for, John?” interrupted Miss Sallie.
“That José is the boy I took him to be—a good, honest, noble fellow.”
“I must say I liked him from the first moment I set eyes upon him,” said Miss Stuart.
“Yes,” continued the major; “his father might well be proud of him. He deserves the highest commendation for his forbearance and unselfishness in regard to that brother of his.”