"Was it an aged father this time or a hungry
brood of motherless waifs, Ruthie?"
"Dick, listen!" cried the girl. "Uncle misjudges him. It was a dear
old colored man and he told me the strangest story."
"You don't often find a grateful beggar who sends you violets in the
morning purchased with some of your own shekels," said the Major,
pinching the flushed cheek. "Tell him, Ruthie; it was odd, and I
believe I'd have done the same thing myself."
The girl flashed a grateful look at him and then told the story of her
purchase of the night before so eloquently that the Major and Dick
heard her through with sober faces, secretly touched by its pathos.
"And he must have recognized Uncle," she ended, "for the violets came
this morning with the quaintest card."
For an instant she dreamily scanned the fire, seeing in its glowing
embers the brown wrinkled negro face with its honest eyes, peering at
her over his spectacles in troubled apprehension; then she sprang to
her feet.
"Uncle Edward," she cried, "did you tell Uncle Neb to wait with the
sleight? Those sleigh-bells are beginning to sound hysterical.
Pages:
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50