“I hope so. I hope you have not been imposed upon. But it will cost money——”
“You told me,” said Dorothy, earnestly, “that when we got to the Hardin place you’d buy a pony for my very own use. Take that money and pay John Dempsey’s fare. I don’t need a pony.”
Aunt Winnie kissed her. “My dear girl! I am afraid your sympathy will often lead you astray,” she said. “But you will stray in kindly paths. I do not believe there will be much serious harm for you that way.”
“What do you think of me?” broke in Tavia. “I am always going astray, too. At least, so they all tell me.”
“Your heart is all right, my dear Octavia,” said Mrs. White, smiling, “but it is your head that leads you astray,” she added, not unkindly.
They all went to the railroad station in good season, and there found the policeman and old John Dempsey waiting for them. The good-natured officer had improved the old man’s appearance considerably by having his clothing brushed and finding him the means for washing. Dempsey had likewise been fed.
He was a brown-faced, blue-eyed man of nearly seventy. The blue eyes had, perhaps, a wandering look, and the muscles about the old man’s mouth had weakened, but otherwise he was sturdy looking.
He saluted Dorothy when she hurried toward him, but took off his hat to Mrs. White.
“’Tis a pity, Ma’am,” he said, to the lady, “that you do be troubled by such as me. But I’m fair desp’rit! I’d take charity from anybody to git back into the open once more.
“They’ve hived me up in four walls till it’s fair mad they’ve made me. I might strike it rich yet, out in the hills, an’ pay ye for——”