e captain found it hard to
bear. He fidgeted for a moment and then blurted out:

"Well, what is it? Why are you starin' at me like that?"

The stare continued.

"What is it?" demanded Daniel. "What does ail you, Gertie? Or is it me?"

His daughter nodded. "Yes," she said, "it is you. Why don't you tell me
all about it, Daddy? I have a right to know. Why don't you tell me?"

"Tell you? Tell you what?"

"You know. Why don't you tell me? You have told me so much already that
you may as well make a clean breast of it. Why, you silly old Dad, what
do you suppose brought me here a week ahead of my vacation? Why do you
think I came?"

"Why do I think--? Why--why, you came because you wanted to see your
mother and me, I suppose. That's reason enough--or I flattered myself
that 'twas. I thought you was as anxious to see us as we was to see
you."

"So I was; but that wasn't reason sufficient to make me leave my work at
college before the term was over, leave it for good, very likely. I came
because I was sure you needed me. And your letters made me sure."

Daniel gasped. His letters had been triumphs of diplomatic evasion, so
he considered. He had been so careful to write nothing of his troubles,
to leave out everything which should hint at his disturbed state of
mind. He had taken pains to express, in each epistle, his contentment
and happiness, had emphasized them. And now--

"My letters!" he exclaimed. "My letters made you think--made you sure--"

"Yes; your letters and mother's. Hers were full of all sorts of things,
the very things that you never mentioned. She didn't say she was having
a good time here, but it was plain enough that she was. You said it in
every letter--that you were having the good time, I mean--but it was
perfectly plain that you weren't. And her last letter was so short--she
was so busy with the Atterbury preparations that she could not write
more, she said--and yours was so very, very long, and SO full of
lonesomeness--"

Her father interrupted. Lonesomeness was the very thing he had tried to
keep out of that letter.

"Gertrude Atwell Dott!" he shouted. "How you talk! I never wrote a
word--"

"Yes, you did. It was all there, between the lines. I could read it, for
you and I have been acquainted a good many years. As soon as I received
that letter I made up my mind to come at once. Since I have been here
I have asked a good many questions, and you have answered them. But
I didn't need th