could he do with her? A sick man—that was one thing; but a sick little girl, that was quite another matter. She would have to go, he feared, and to lose her now would seem very hard.
After all, she did not appear ill. She laughed and apologized so sweetly to her would-be-angry host that he forgot his indignation and forgave her on the spot. Only warned her gravely that he was a man who meant exactly what he said, and intended anybody belonging to him should do the same. One hour was never two; and, in case they never came across that missing uncle of hers, he supposed she would have to stay where she was until such time as her own parents could claim her; ending his lecture with the question:
"Would she remember?"
She'd promise to try and remember; and would he like to hear all about what a lovely, lovely time she had had? Did he know what snow felt like? Had he ever ridden and ridden till he couldn't see, and been dumped into high banks and buried underneath the soft, cold
