ntioned, you had better come along with me, for I've
forgotten them already," her father laughingly replied.

"I thought that would be the way," Dexie replied with a smile, "but you
will not get off so easily as you think. Here is my book, and the list is
on the last pages, so you have no excuse to forget one of the articles,
papa," and she slipped the little book inside his vest-pocket.

"Glad to have your company, Traverse. How long do you stay?"

"Well, I am not particular to a day or two. I expect to be ready to return
on Friday."

"And this is Monday; well, we can arrange to return together, so, Dexie,
you can make your mind easy. Your old dad will have someone to look after
him both ways."

"That is very nice. Take good care of him, Mr. Traverse," and she gave him
her hand as he said good-bye.

Her father bent his head and kissed her, saying playfully:

"Now, don't run off with the gardener, or do any other dreadful thing while
I am gone, and I will try and get your commissions filled, even to the box
of chocolates."

They stepped on the cars, and with the usual ear-splitting shriek the train
moved away, leaving Dexie on the platform looking after them. The two men
stood at the rear door and waved a farewell, and Dexie returned home, never
thinking that she had seen her father well and strong for the last time.

Mr. Sherwood had not been away from home since they had moved to
Lennoxville, and Dexie planned to have a dainty repast awaiting his return,
and she was in the kitchen when a telegraph messenger appeared at the door.

"A telegram for Mrs. Sherwood, and one for Miss Dexie Sherwood."

Dexie tore hers open, and her heart seemed to stop beating as she read:

"There has been an accident, and your father is hurt, but not
fatally. He cannot be moved at present. Can you come at once?

"GUY TRAVERSE."

Dexie rushed up the stairs, her white face telling of trouble, and as soon
as her mother saw her she asked in alarm:

"What is it, Dexie? What has happened?"

"Dear mamma, come back into the room, and I will tell you. There has been
an accident, and papa is hurt. Oh, mamma, do not scream so! No, he is not
killed; do not say it. Oh, hush! let me open your message. Mine is from Mr.
Traverse, and he says papa is hurt and cannot be moved. Oh, mamma! do not
scream so. You will terrify the children and make yourself ill."

"Oh, he is dead! My husband is killed