them appear to have a way of
stealing into one's heart.

"I don't really want to go at once, Daddy," I told him. "It will take a
few days to get used to the idea, and to get everything ready. And Dr.
Grant says that very soon you will be able to walk without a cane. Do let
us put it off for another week."

Daddy smiled vaguely, and finally nodded his consent. He is always so
good about trying to please me. So I went and got my knitting and sat
down at the foot of the big chair.

"I'm afraid I'll never finish it before we leave," I said, "and I doubt
whether I will ever quite solve the mystery of turning heels."

"That's too bad," said Daddy. "I expected to wear those things in
Virginia this fall, after quail, or on the Chesapeake when the
canvas-backs are flying."

"I am afraid you will have to buy some, Daddy," I answered.

So I sat beside him, at his feet, and I think my mood had changed a
little. Perhaps it was fatigue, which I didn't really feel. I suppose
that people can have things the matter with them without knowing anything
about it. Daddy's dear old hand rested for a moment on my head, and I had
to stop knitting. I don't think I ever felt so queerly before, and I had
to look over Sweetapple Cove and follow the flight of the gulls, until
the shadows grew quite long and the clouds became tinted with rose, and
Daddy asked me to get him a cigar, and I was glad he interrupted my silly
thoughts. I must have been really very tired.

* * * * *

I could only write a little while, last night. We had some caribou steak
which Daddy became quite enthusiastic over, but I didn't feel hungry, and
I went to bed early, but somehow I slept poorly. It is funny that one can
be tired for several days at a time. And to-day, Aunt Jennie, some queer
things have happened, and the life that has so often felt like dreams has
become very serious, and I have seen some of the inner working of events
such as make one feel that existence has cruel sides to it.

All this morning I dawdled about the house. I had expected Dr. Grant to
call and see Daddy, but he had been sent for, a short distance away, in
the boat.

Rather late this afternoon he returned, and I strolled over towards the
cove when I saw the tiny schooner come in. It is a poor enough little
ship, but it is wonderful to think how it bears with it such comfort and
help to so many suffering people.

I was within a few yards of him, and he w