A shuffling
step sounded on the porch outside, and the girl hurried toward the
door, a sudden light of daring in her eyes. Impulse had always ruled
the Verneys, and Ruth was a Verney from the crown of her dark head to
the tips of her small feet. Catching up Grandmother Verney's long
cloak hanging over a chair, she softly left the house.
Dick, struggling into his overcoat, turned at the Major's touch on his
arm.
"Just a minute, Dick." Major Verney's genial voice was sympathetic as
a woman's. "Remember that what the Colonel refused in prosperity he's
not likely to take in adversity. Sit down here by the fire until we
talk it over."
"But, Major"--there was a note of anguish in the boy's voice--"I must
go to him. Think of Uncle Noah selling himself to help them, and I--"
But the Major had already removed the overcoat and gently pushed his
guest into a chair by the fire. "Yes, yes," he said as he seated
himself; "we know all about that, my boy; but I'm afraid, Dick," he
added regretfully, "that the Colonel wouldn't let you in.
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