"Is father coming home to dinner to-day?" asked Richard, a little later
on, as he entered the kitchen with a pail of water which Nancy, the
oldest of his three sisters, had asked him to draw from the well.
"I guess not," replied the girl. "His rheumatism hurt him so much he
said he might not be able to walk from Dr. Melvin's new house."
"Ma put up his dinner," put in Grace, the second oldest.
"Then he won't be back," returned Richard, somewhat disappointed, for
he had been calculating on broaching the subject of going to New York
to his father after the midday meal.
"He said his shoulder hurt him awfully last night," added Grace. "I
heard him tell ma he could almost feel the bullet worrying him in the
flesh."
"It's mighty queer he doesn't get a pension," said Nancy. "I'm sure
he deserves one. Didn't he ever apply, Dick? I read in a Philadelphia
paper the other day about a man getting sixteen dollars a month allowed,
and a whole lot of back pay--more than two or three thousand dollars!"
"Two or three thousand dollars!" cried Grace. "Oh, Nancy, it's a
fortune!"
"But it's true, every word."
"I believe father has tried," replied Richard. "But it seems that he
must have witnesses to prove his identity, and all that--"
"And can't he get them?" asked Grace, eagerly.
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