tioned them pitifully, looking across at his well-beloved wheels hanging in idleness. "Have I really been so blind and selfish as to do Miranda such great wrong?"
It seemed a long wait before they heard her step outside.
"Go to meet her, tell her that—that nothing is wrong," he directed. "Do not let her be anxious. I am sure you can explain it all."
David stayed by his side while Betsey went to tell what had happened. It was not easy, especially after she saw the look of alarm that came into her friend's face the moment she heard that Donald Reynolds had been there. She listened quietly, however to all that Betsey had to tell.
"Oh, why was I away!" she exclaimed at the end, but it was her only lamentation. "He can say very hard and cruel things," she added; "you have not told me all of them, but I can guess."
She went to the workshop to speak to her father, but David met her at the door.
"He feels better," the boy reported, "but he said he would like to be by himself a little. He is up and walking about; I really think he will be happier if he is left alone."
They peeped in at the door and saw that Mr. Reynolds was, as David had said, standing at the bench, busy as ever, with a tool in his hand. He
