"No," said the station-master again, "I'm thinking it's not the boys who
will be keeping Mrs. Maclntyre's hands full this winter, so much as
that little granddaughter of hers that came here last fall,--little
Virginia Dudley. You can guess what's she like from her nickname. They
call her Ginger. She had always lived at some army post out West, until
her father, Captain Dudley, was ordered to Cuba. He was wounded down
there, and has never been entirely well since. When he found they were
going to keep him there all winter, he sent for his wife last September,
and there was nothing to do with Virginia but to bring her back to
Kentucky to her grandmother."
"Oh, she's the little girl who went in on the train this morning with
Miss Allison," said the ticket agent. "I suppose the boys have come down
to meet them. They'll have a long time to wait."
While this conversation was going on behind the ticket window, the two
boys stretched themselves out on a long bench beside the stove. The warm
room made them feel drowsy after their violent out-door exercise. Keith,
the younger one, yawned several times, and finally lay down on the bench
with his cap for a pillow. He was eight years old, but curled up in that
fashion, with his long eyelashes resting on his red cheeks, and one
plump little hand tucked under his chin, he looked much younger.
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