The next morning found Frederick Graves more nervous than ever. The weather had cleared. The air, washed by yesterday's downpour, came through the open window sweet to his nostrils. The countryside sparkled in the morning sun and the greens of the woods and fields were deeper and richer; but the beauty of the landscape touched him not. He'd scarcely slept, and when weariness had at last overcome him, his dreams had been filled with visions of a red haired girl, and a sturdy, handsome boy playing about upon the ragged rocks. When he came down to breakfast, Ebenezer told him he'd better see the doctor that day.
"You might go while Madelene and I are out this morning," suggested Helen. "Ah," hearing a child's voice in the hall, "here comes my baby!"
When the door opened, a little girl of three bounded in. Ebenezer held out his arms and Elsie sprang into them.
"Listen to Mrs. Waldstricker," he laughed. "She said, 'my baby,' and I say, she's mine.... Aren't you my baby, pet?"
Helen smiled indulgently. This wee bit of femininity was the one creature who could keep her father amiable from one end of the day to the other.
"My girlie wants to eat with daddy?" Ebenezer went on, his face buried in the flaxen hair. "Then she shall."
"Elsie wants to eat with daddy," parroted the child.
"That's why I say she's spoiled," offered Helen, shrugging her shoulders. "Now her place is in the nursery, but what can I do?"
"Her place is right here on her father's knee," replied Waldstricker, "where I always want her, bless her."
During the discussion about the child, Frederick got up from the table and went out of doors.