is holding splendidly although it has had a lively shaking up. The worst
was over in ten minutes, but it was pretty rough while it lasted. I
don't think I ever saw water come so fast. I saw you with Breen, but I
couldn't reach you then. Look out for your dress, daughter. I'm pretty
wet."

He released her arms from his neck and walked toward the fire, stripping
off his gray mackintosh as he moved. There he stretched his hands to the
blaze sod went on: "As I say, the 'fill' is safe and will stay so, for
the water is going down rapidly; dropped ten feet, Breen, since you
left. My!--but this fire feels good! Got into something dry--did
you, Breen? That's right. But I am not satisfied about the way the
down-stream end of the culvert acts"--this also was addressed to
Jack--"I am afraid some part of the arch has caved in. It will be bad if
it has--we shall know in the morning. You weren't frightened, Puss, were
you?"

She did not answer. She had heard that cheery, optimistic note in her
father's voice before; she knew how much of it was meant for her ears.
None of his disasters were ever serious, to hear daddy talk--"only the
common lot of the contracting engineer, little girl," he would say,
kissing her good-night, while he again pored over his plans, sometimes
until daylight.

She crept up to him the closer and nestled her fingers inside his
collar--an old caress of hers when she was a child, then looking up into
his eyes she asked with almost a throb of suffering in her voice, "Is it
as bad as the coffer-dam, daddy?"

Jack looked on in silence. He dared not add a word of comfort of his own
while his Chief held first place in soothing her fears.

MacFarlane passed his hand over her forehead--"Don't ask me, child! Why
do you want to bother your dear head over such things, Puss?" he asked,
as he stroked her hair.

"Because I must and will know. Tell me the truth," she demanded, lifting
her head, a note of resolve in her voice. "I can help you the
better if I know it all." Some of the blood of one of her
great-great-grandmothers, who had helped defend a log-house in Indian
times, was asserting itself. She could weep, but she could fight, too,
if necessary.

"Well, then, I'm afraid it is worse than the coffer-dam," he answered
in all seriousness. "It may be a matter of twelve or fifteen thousand
dollars--maybe more, if we have to rebuild the 'fill.' I can't tell
yet."

Ruth released her grasp, moved to the sofa and sa