faint pulse still beating. Donald, in evident concern, was coming closer, but David barred the way and warned him off.
"You are an impudent pair of young ones," exclaimed Donald. "Who are you and what is your business here, anyway?"
"We are friends of Miss Miranda's," Betsey explained briefly. "I think you have done her father some very great harm."
"I thought it was only my duty to say a word or two to put things right," the man answered. "It is not fair to Miranda that no one should tell her father the truth."
"You did not speak one word of truth," returned David heatedly. "You guessed about the burning of the house and you guessed wrong. And you did not even guess about the invention. You know as much of mechanical things as—as Dick does."
"I am a practical man," Donald Reynolds said, "and I have no patience with toys and dreams."
He spoke with less bluster than was to be expected, for he seemed truly disturbed by the evident harm he had brought about. His words roused his uncle from the lethargy into which he had fallen for the old man spoke suddenly and very clearly.
"There are many idle dreams and some true ones," he said, "and it is only through the true dreams that the world goes forward."
