“Afraid of arrest, Father?” gasped Helen.
“For your mother’s sake, and for yours,” he said. “She couldn’t have borne it. It would have killed her.”
“But you were not guilty, Father!” cried Helen.
“Why, Father, you could never have done anything dishonorable or mean—I know you could not!”
“Thank you, Snuggy!” the dying man replied, with a smile hovering about his pain-drawn lips. “You’ve been the greatest comfort a father ever had, ever since you was a little, cuddly baby, and liked to snuggle up against father under the blankets.
“That was before the big ranch-house was built, and we lived in a shack. I don’t know how your mother managed to stand it, winters. You just snuggled into my arms under the blankets—that’s how we came to call you ‘Snuggy.’”
“‘Snuggy’ is a good name, Dad,” she declared. “I love it, because you love it. And I know I gave you comfort when I was little.”
“Indeed, yes! What a comfort you were after your poor mother died, Snuggy! Ah, well! you shall have your reward, dear. I am sure of that. Only I am worried that you should be left alone now.”
“Big Hen and the boys will take care of me,” Helen said, stifling her sobs.