Donald and Dorothy

by Mary Mapes Dodge

"Tell me," implored Donald, "is Dorothy Reed my sister?"

"Hush! hush!" was the hurried response. "She'll hear you!"

"Is she or not?" insisted Donald, his eyes still fixed on his uncle's face. It seemed to him that he caught the words, "She is." He could not be certain, but he stepped hopefully forward and laid his hand upon Mr. Reed's shoulder.

"She is!" he exclaimed joyfully, bending over till their faces almost met. "I knew it! Why didn't you tell me the fellow lied?"

"Who? What fellow?"

"Uncle! Is she or not? I must know."

Mr. Reed glanced toward the door, to be sure that it was closed.

"Uncle, Uncle! please answer my question."

"Yes, my boy, I think—that is, I trust—she is. Oh, Donald," cried Mr. Reed, leaning upon the table and burying his face in his hands, "I do not know, myself!"

"What don't you know, Uncle?" said a merry voice outside, accompanied by a light rapping at the door, "May I come in?"