What a stern little thing she was. Yet one felt the stimulus of her strength. "Aunt Claudia," said Becky, tremulously, "if I could only be as sure of things as you are——"
"What things?"
"Of right and wrong and all the rest of it."
"I don't know what you mean by all the rest.
But right is right, and wrong is wrong, my dear. There is no half-way, in spite of all the sophistries with which people try to salve their consciences."
She stopped, and plunged again into the discussion of her problem. "I must telephone to Truxton—he mustn't come—not until his grandfather asks him, Becky."
"He is coming now," said Becky, who sat by the window. "Look, Aunt Claudia."
Tramping up the hill towards the second gate was a tall figure in khaki. Resting like a rose-petal on one shoulder was a mite of a child in pink rompers.
"He is bringing Fiddle with him," Becky gasped. "Oh, Aunt Claudia, he is bringing Fiddle."
Aunt Claudia rose and looked out—— "Well," she said, "let her come. She's his child. If Father turns them out, I'll go with them."