"
"Then the soul of it was there, waiting, wasn't it?"
"But only for a little while," he sighed. "I am very lonely sometimes,
in spite of the boy."
Francesca's blue eyes became misty. "When a door in your heart is
closed," she said, "turn the key and go away. Opening it only brings
pain."
"I know," he answered, clearing his throat. "You've told me that before
and I've often thought of it. Yet sometimes it seems as though all of
life was behind that door."
"Ah, but it isn't. Your son and at least one true friend are outside.
Listen!"
"No," Allison was saying, "I got well acquainted with surprisingly few
people over there. You see, I always chummed with Dad."
"Bless him," said Francesca, impulsively.
"Have I done well?" asked the Colonel, anxiously. "It was hard work,
alone."
"Indeed you have done well. I hear that he is a great artist."
"He's more than that--he's a man. He's clean and a good shot, and he
isn't afraid of anything. Someway, to me, a man who played the fiddle
always seemed, well--lady-like, you know. But Allison isn't."
"No," answered Francesca, demurely, "he isn't.
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