Of course, Jennie, it is a disgruntled old brother-in-law who writes this, and you will have to make allowances.
Would you believe that last night she went out and remained till after midnight in a sailor's house, watching a sick child, after I had objected to her doing so, as forcibly as I could? I had to send the queer female native who looks after us to that shanty to bring her back, and the child returned with swollen eyes and a drawn face that positively hurt me to see. She has derived so much benefit from her stay here, and was looking so splendidly just a few days ago, that I felt angry enough to have whipped her, if a silly old chap like me could ever chastise a daughter like Helen. At any rate I rushed her off to bed, and I know she never went there for a long time. I have no doubt that instead of sleeping she was probably scribbling to you.
This morning she was down before eight, and I will acknowledge that she looked better than I had expected. Yet there were great dark rings under her eyes, and I tried to look as disagreeable as possible. But you women are too smart for an old fellow like me. She simply cuddled up to me as I sat in the only armchair in Sweetapple Cove and put her arm around my neck, and I could only grumble a little like a decrepit idiot.
Then she looked out of doors and rushed back again, and put on that crazy woollen cap you crocheted for her, and opened the door to the kitchen, where Susie was singing some hoarse ditty of her own, and told her that she was going out again to see that child, and that she would be back in a few minutes. That Susie showed her sense, and I'm going to give her a big tip.
"Ye'll not be doin' no sich thing," shrieked our domestic. "They be plenty sickness already in th' Cove, an' Doctor not back yet. Ye'll jist take yer coffee as is waitin' fer ye, an' not be goin' ter see illness on a empty stummick. An' Captain he've been round ter say they is still quite a jobble of a sea outside but he can make it fine, and he've steam up. So it's good-by to th' Cove this fine marnin.'"
"Yes," I said hurriedly. "We're off just as soon as we've had breakfast and the men have moved everything down to the yacht. It is a corking fine day, and as we're all proof against sea-sickness we've got nothing to worry over. Of course you're all played out after that nursing all night, and are a foolish girl, but I suppose one can't keep women away from those jobs. Sit right down and have your breakfast."
"I'll have to see that child before we leave, Daddy," she said, "and—and—and then I will be all ready."
She spoke in such a queer way that I was positively alarmed. I am sure I have never seen her look like that.
"What's the matter?" I asked her. "You speak in such a weary, discouraged way that you must be getting ill. You have simply tired yourself to death over that boy of Frenchy's. By George! But I'll be glad when we get away from this place!"
And then the minx looked at me, just as sweetly as ever, and her voice had that little caressing tone of hers.