"I'm strong now." She gripped his fingers.
"We'll take a little jaunt together."
"We must have moth-er with us, daddy. Oh, dear daddy!"
"We'll see mother soon," he said; "—very soon."
She brushed his cheek with searching fingers. "I think we'd better start right away," she declared. "'Cause—isn't this a rain-drop on your face?"
CHAPTER XV
Without another moment's delay Gwendolyn and her father set forth, traveling a road that stretched forward beside the stream of soda, winding as the stream wound, to the music of the fuming water—music with a bass of deep pool-notes.
How sweet it all was! Underfoot the dirt was cool. It yielded itself deliciously to Gwendolyn's bare tread. Overhead, shading the way, were green boughs, close-laced, but permitting glimpses of blue. Upon this arbor, bouncing along with an occasional chirp of contentment, and with the air of one who has assumed the lead, went the Bird.
Gwendolyn's father walked in silence, his look fixed far ahead. Trotting at his side, she glanced up at him now and then. She did not have to dread the coming of Jane, or Miss Royle, or Thomas. Yet she felt concern—on the score of keeping beside him; of having ready a remark, gay or entertaining, should he show signs of being bored.