I waited for the poisonous fumes to clear a little, and then ducked my head and peered into the dug-out. In the light of a couple of candles and a blazing wood-fire, I caught sight of Molly, hastily removing a kipper impaled on the end of a pointed stick, and Gran'pa thrusting a half loaf of bread into his pocket.
"Come out!" I shouted.
Molly emerged, slowly and sheepishly. She was wet through, muddy, black-faced and reeking with the mingled odors of damp earth, smoke, and grilled fish. As she stood before me, she shivered in the cold and driving rain.
I tried to convey to her some idea of my utter amazement and anger, but realized that the English language was not intended for the expression of such powerful emotions as mine were at that moment.
"Go into the house, immediately!" I cried at last. "You'll catch your death of cold!"
"Daddy . . ." she began wheedlingly.
"Don't you touch me! I'm dirty enough already! . . . Scoot!"
She scooted; and I went in and hauled out Gran'pa who was behaving like a sulky schoolboy. I was mad with him—mad at the dangerous complications which might follow Molly's exposure to such weather.
"I daren't say what I think of you!" I flamed. "But I'll tell you my opinion of myself. I was a fool ever to help you in this idiotic monkey business. You may have been troublesome in the old days, but you were at least harmless. Now, you've become not only a nuisance to the whole household, but a menace as well. A thundering good hiding is what you really deserve. . . ."
He shrank back into the cover of the dug-out and the rain pelted down on me in torrents.