Out of the depths of her dripping hair and her big plushy bath-towel little Eve Edgarton considered her father only casually.
"Don't delay me!" she said, "I've got to make four hundred muffins."
"Don't delay me!" she said, "I've got to make four hundred muffins! And I'm so late I haven't even time to change my clothes! We got struck by lightning," she added purely incidentally. "That is—sort of struck by lightning. That is, Mr. Barton got sort of struck by lightning. And oh, glory, Father!" her voice kindled a little. "And, oh, glory, Father, I thought he was gone! Twice in the hours I was working over him he stopped breathing altogether!"
Palpably the vigor died out of her voice again. "Father," she drawled mumblingly through intermittent flops of bath-towel; "Father—you said I could keep the next thing I—saved. Do you think I could—keep him?"
CHAPTER III
"What?" demanded her father.
Altogether unexpectedly little Eve Edgarton threw back her tousled head and burst out laughing.