These boys and girls, including Miss Priscilla, haven't been used to
having things happen to them to distress them, and they are so
warm-hearted and sympathetic that it makes it hard to say a thing to
them that would hurt them. But I couldn't, couldn't go on being a
public and distinguished character, if my father were going to be a
public character of another kind. If people should say, "How his life
must mortify his poor daughter, noble girl, with a medal and friends
and things!" that would just put me on the other side of the fence
from my own parent, who needs me more than ever, if he is sinful. He
isn't, but what right have I to bask in public favor while he is in
outer darkness?
Then just as I was going to decline to be a member of the Campfire and
beg them all not to mention it to me any more, and try not to worry
over me but to just forget about me, something so horrible came over
the wall, in the shape of the news that Mr. Douglass Byrd brought,
that I and they forgot all about the Scouts and Kittens and medals and
all that. The Idol was pale and quiet as he walked up the path to us,
after skimming over the wall with one hand on it in a way that made
Sam gasp with admiration.
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