toward the door. The tears she was too proud to let him see were running
down her face.

"We's goin' to the poah-house," she exclaimed, defiantly, "jus' as soon
as the money in the pocketbook is used up. It was nearly gone when I
came away."

Here she began to sob, as she fumbled at the door she could not see to
open.

"I'm goin' home to my mothah right now. She loves me if my clothes are
old and ugly."

"Why, Lloyd," called the Colonel, amazed and distressed by her sudden
burst of grief. "Come here to grandpa. Why didn't you tell me so
before?"

The face, the tone, the outstretched arm, all drew her irresistibly
to him. It was a relief to lay her head on his shoulder, and unburden
herself of the fear that had haunted her so many days.

With her arms around his neck, and the precious little head held close
to his heart, the old Colonel was in such a softened mood that he would
have promised anything to comfort her.

"There, there," he said, soothingly, stroking her hair with a gentle
hand, when she had told him all her troubles. "Don't you worry about
that, my dear. Nobody is going to eat out of tin pans and sleep on
straw. Grandpa just won't let them."