when he was gone. And then the house burned and the war came, and everything was changed so that nobody was happy any more."
"Mr. Reynolds is happy," David insisted; "whatever is wrong is being kept from him. To work at something you love that is coming nearer and nearer to success, that is one of the best things there is. But Miss Miranda isn't happy! And she is growing more unhappy every day. It's time something was done."
"If her brother could only come home," Betsey suggested.
"He might come home to-morrow, he might be kept a year," replied David. "No, we can't wait for him. We will have to do something ourselves."
"But what can we do?" questioned Betsey blankly.
"I don't know yet," confessed David, knitting his eyebrows in earnest thought as he sat on the grass with his arms about his knees, "but there is bound to be something we can do if we just stand by and try hard enough. And I would try anything for Miss Miranda!"
There was nothing small or mean about David's ambitions nor in the loyalty of his friendship.
"While we are talking it all over, there is one other thing I should like to speak about," began Betsey hesitatingly. "Do you ever think that there
