“Make way for the Duke of Granada,” called Jimmie’s cheerful voice from the hall, and presently he appeared, pushing José, done up in bandages and lying flat on his back, on a rolling cot used by some invalid of the Ten Eyck family long since dead and gone.
“José, my boy,” exclaimed the major, going to the foot of the cot to ease it as it passed over the door sill, “do you think this is safe?”
“The doctor says it will not hurt him,” replied Jimmie. “He needs company, but we won’t let him stay long.”
José smiled up at the faces leaning over him.
“You have all been so good to me,” he said. “I want to thank you for your kindness and for believing in me when my character looked black enough to have condemned me without any more proof. And I want to thank you for my brother, too, and my poor little sister.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“There, there,” cried the major, pressing the boy’s hand. “It’s a little enough we have done, I’m sure. I only wish we could have saved you from your tumble,” he added, gazing sadly toward the right wing of Ten Eyck Hall.
“And is it really true that our friends are going to leave us this afternoon?” asked José.
“Yes,” answered the major; “all our girls and boys are going. We shall be lonesome enough when they are gone.”
There was the sound of a motor horn down the avenue.