“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.” Then he closed his eyes once more, drew a long sigh and sank lower in the chair. Donald Reynolds stood irresolute, troubled but unconvinced and ready to argue his case still. “You had better go,” Betsey had the courage to tell him with blunt plainness. “Mr. Reynolds will be better when you are out of sight. There’s no use in your waiting to talk to Miss Miranda.” Donald Reynolds, it seemed, thought the same thing. He took up his hat, began to say something, perhaps in apology or excuse for what he had done, made such small success of it that he gave up the attempt, and turned to the door. The two beside Mr. Reynolds paid little attention to his going, only Dick hailed his departure with a defiant caw. “I suppose he is telling himself that he has acted for the best,” commented David bitterly. “At least he has sense enough to seem a little sorry for what he has done.” “I see now why Miss Miranda has looked so worried,” Betsey added. “She has been afraid he would come here and say just such cruel, untrue things.” When David had brought a glass of water for Mr. Reynolds and Betsey had propped him up with cushions, he seemed to feel better, although still to be rather dazed. “Did he mean it? Was he right?” he questioned 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.