Ned--otherwise known as Captain Edward Dale on the retired list,
resident of India, subject of Great Britain, has answered the last roll
call--and left what he had to me. Uncle Ned was the hero of our
family, daughter dear, and some day I will tell you why you are my
Little Captain--his own successor," and the major laid his hand upon
Dorothy's shoulder in a way he had of making a promise that he intended
to keep.

A commotion on the side porch interrupted their confidences, and the
major took advantage of it to make his escape. He kissed Dorothy
good-bye, and left her to the "commotion" that presently made its way
in at the door in the shape of Tavia Travers, Dorothy's warmest friend
in every thing.

"Hurrah for the good news!" shouted Tavia, flinging her sailor hat up
to the ceiling and catching it as promptly.

"Three cheers for the money,
When will it come?
Give a feller some
Tiddle-umtum-tum
I have to say bunny,
To make a rhyme with money!"

And Tavia swung around like a pin-wheel to bring her "verse" to an
effective full stop--a way she had of punctuating her impromptu
productions.

Dorothy made a comical "squat" to add more finish, and then the two
girls, feeling better for having opened the safety valve of physical
exertion to "let off" mental exuberance, sat down to talk it over
quietly.

"Are you perfectly positive, certain, sure, that it's just you, Dorothy
Dale, and no fairy or mermaid," began Tavia, settling herself among the
cushions on Major Dale's sofa. "Of all the delicious, delectable
things! To have a rich, old uncle die 'way off in India, where you
don't even have to make your nose red at his funeral. And to leave you
a million dollars--"

"Oh, not quite a million," interrupted Dorothy. "Something
considerable less than that, I believe."

"But it's all kinds of money I know," went on the other. "Dear me! I
do wish some kind of money would run in our family even with red noses
thrown in. But no such luck! When we have a funeral we always have to
pay for the coach."

"Tavia Travers! How dare you talk so, of such serious things!"

"How else would you have me talk of serious things? The most serious
thing in my life is money--its scarcity. Funerals, of course, take
time, and are unpleasant in many respects, but, for right at home
trouble, it's money."

"It is nice to think that the dear old captain should be so good to
father," said Dorothy. "Father was alwa