The
explosion was bad enough, but if this 'fill' is to be rebuilt, I
don't know what will be the end of it. Tell me over again, please
--how did he look when he said it?--and give me just the very
words. Oh, dear, dear daddy! What will he do?" The anxious note
had now fallen to one of the deepest suffering.
Jack repeated the message word for word, all his tenderness in his
tones--patting her shoulder in his effort to comfort her--ending
with a minute explanation of what Garry had told him: but Ruth
would not be convinced.
"But you don't know daddy," she kept repeating "You don't know
him. Nobody does but me. He would not have sent that message had
he not meant it. Listen! There he is now!" she cried, springing to
her feet.
She had her arms around her father's neck, her head nestling on
his shoulder before he had fairly entered the door. "Daddy, dear,
is it very bad?" she murmured.
"Pretty bad, little girl," he answered, smoothing her cheek
tenderly with his chilled fingers as he moved with her toward the
fire, "but it might have been worse but for the way Breen handled
the men.
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