"Ye madcap!" he exclaimed after a short silence. "Whatever possessed ye?"
"Oh, father, don't be angry with me!"
At this, he leaned over, and drawing her into his arms, lifted her to his knee.
"Angry with you, my little Dot!" he said. "My precious, brave little girl, how could I be that, except it were for your risking so carelessly the life that is so dear to my old heart?"
All the sternness of his face had given place to an expression of loving pride.
"One cannot censure an eagle, my baby," he went on,—"that it be not born a barnyard fowl or a weak pigeon. It would seem that a higher power than of poor mortality must have put it into your head and heart to do what you did last night. And I've no word of blame for your having togged yourself out in Jack's clothes. Many a heroine has done a like thing before you. If Joan of Arc had been more like most womenfolk, no doubt many would have reckoned her more properly behaved, according to the laws laid down by men for the behavior o' women. But who dare question the bravery and unselfishness of her deeds? And you, my baby, were our Joan of Arc last night!"
All this was balm to her troubled heart. But she could not speak, and only hugged him more tightly around the neck as she wept on his shoulder.
"Here—hoity toity!" he said presently. "What manner o' bravery be this—crying for naught?"
She raised her head, but before she could reply, they were both startled by a noisy trampling of horses in front of the house, and strange voices coming in through the open windows.
Hastily wiping away her tears, Dorothy sprang from her father's lap and ran to look out.