"Keep up a good heart, my girl," he said, tenderly, to Dorry, as he left her, "and as soon as you feel like it, take a run out-of-doors with Donald. The bracing air will drive all sad thoughts away."
Dorry tried to smile pleasantly, as she promised to follow his advice. She even begged Don not to wait any longer, assuring him that she would go out and join him very soon.
"That's a good old Dot," said Don, proudly. "I'll wait for you. Where's your hat?"
"No, you go first, Don. I'll be out soon. I really will."
"All right. Ed's out there again by this time. You'll find us in the gymnasium." And off he ran, well knowing that Dorry's heart was heavy, but believing that the truest kindness and sympathy lay in making as light as possible of Uncle George's revelation; which, in his boyish logic, he felt wasn't so serious a thing after all, if looked at in the right spirit.
Dorothy waited until he was out of sight, and then sat down to think it all over.
The result was that when Liddy chanced to pass through the hall, a few moments later, she was startled by hearing half-suppressed sobs.
According to the custom of the house, which made the cosey corner a sort of refuge for Dorry, the good woman, upon entering at the open door, stood a moment wondering what to do. But as the sound of another little sob came from behind the screen, she called out in a cheery voice:
"May I come in, Miss Dorry dear?"
"Y-yes," was the answer. "Oh, Liddy, is that you? Uncle has told us all about it."