"Oh, no!" answered Helen, who was nearly out of breath with her efforts to keep up with her companion. "I hope you won't be angry with Harold," she added timidly. "I am quite sure my father won't mind my having gone."
"Not mind your having gone!" repeated Mr. Bayden. "It was a most wicked, thoughtless act. And to lead Harold into mischief too! My poor Harold!"
"Oh, Mr. Bayden, is anything the matter with Harold?"
Helen's agonized tones touched the clergyman, preoccupied as he was.
"I don't know," he returned more gently. "He ate no lunch, and he complained of headache this afternoon. It may be nothing."
"But why—why?" began Helen, when, to her joy, she saw her father a little ahead of them.
"There is father!" she cried joyfully, running after him. Her tale was nearly told before Mr. Bayden came up to them.
"What has my little girl been doing?" asked the colonel, smiling. "Interfering with your sick folk? No harm done, I hope."
"I hope not," answered Mr. Bayden tremulously. "But—shall I speak before her?"
"Run on, Helen," said the colonel. "Now," he went on as Helen obeyed, an anxious look gathering on his face, "what is it?"