"It is too large for us. And the things are going to be sold?"
"The things going to be sold!" repeated Dick, lifting his eyes and voice in amazement "Papa has so directed in his will. You know--at least I dare say you have heard--that Aunt Bettina has a great deal of very nice furniture which has been lying by in a warehouse ever since she came to live with us. I can't tell you yet how things will be settled."
"I say, Sara, how slow and quiet you speak! And how pale you are!"
Sara swallowed down a lump in her throat. "Papa was all I had left to me, Dick. Leo, my dear, you are quiet and pale, too!"
"I say, Sara--never mind Leo, he's all right--have you got a great fortune left you? The boys here were saying you'd have such a lot: you and the captain between you."
"The boys were mistaken, Dick. Papa has not died rich. He died something else, Dick--a good man. That is better than dying rich."
"If he wasn't rich, why did he give back that money that Lady Oswald left him?"
"O Dick! Do you know that the remembrance of having given back that money was one of his consolations in dying. Dick, dear, he hoped you would work on always for that better world. But the acquiring money wrongfully, or the keeping it unjustly, would not, I think, help you on your road to it."
They were interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Keen, a kind, motherly woman. She insisted on Sara's taking off her bonnet and partaking of some refreshment. Sara yielded: choosing bread-and-butter and a cup of coffee. And Mrs. Keen and Dick and Leo afterwards walked with her back to the station.