Patsy isn't at all pretty this morning.
She's too red and freckled."
Patsy laughed and her blue eyes danced.
"That comes from living on your old farm at Millville," she retorted.
"We've only been back three days, and the sunburn sticks to me like a
burr to a kitten."
"Pay no attention to the ould rascal, Patsy," advised the Major,
composedly. "An' stop wavin' that letter like a white flag of surrender.
Who's it from?"
"Kenneth."
"Aha! An' how is our lad?"
"Why, he's got himself into a peck of trouble. That's what I want to
talk to you and Uncle John about," she replied, her happy face growing
as serious as it could ever become.
"Can't he wiggle out?" asked Uncle John.
"Out of what?"
"His trouble."
"It seems not. Listen--"
"Oh, tell us about it, lassie," said the Major. "If I judge right
there's some sixty pages in that epistle. Don't bother to read it
again."
"But every word is important," declared Patsy, turning the letter over,
"--except the last page," with a swift flush.
Uncle John laughed. His shrewd old eyes saw everything.
"Then read us the last page, my dear."
"I'll tell you about it," said Patsy, quickly. "It's this way, you see.
Kenneth has gone into politics!"
"More power to his elbow!" exclaimed the Major.
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