"You see, there was an old lady, a cousin of the old gentleman's, and she made a will in favor of this child with the big hat." The conductor pointed his thumb at Phronsie, leaning over Mr. King's shoulder, the better to hear a wonderful story he was concocting for her benefit. "Why, she's got some two or three millions."
"What—that child?" cried the listeners, in amaze.
[Illustration: JOEL SWINGING A BIG BOX RUSHED INTO DUNRAVEN HALL.]
"Yes—the old lady was tough, but"—he dashed off again, called a station, slammed the door, and was back in position in less time than it takes to tell it—"she was took sudden, while Mr. King's folks was in Europe, and now that child has turned a handsome old place down yonder"—he pointed with his thumb in the direction of Bedford— "Dunraven Lodge, the old lady always called it, into a sort of a Home, and she's chucked it full of children, mostly those whose fathers and mothers are dead; and every Christmas Day Mr. King takes down a big crowd, and"—
Here somebody called him off, not to be seen again till he put his head in the doorway, and shouted "Bedford!"
* * * * *
Joel, swinging a big box as only Joel could, rushed into the spacious hall at Dunraven Lodge. "How are you all!"
Phronsie disentangled herself from a group around the big fire-place where the long hickory logs snapped and blazed.
"Oh, Josey!" she cried, precipitating herself into his long arms.
"Here is the toggery," cried Joel, setting down the doll-box, while he gathered Phronsie up in his arms.