When the storm of her grief had calmed a little, the young woman raised her head and saw Sam Whaley's dirty, ill-kept children gazing at her with wondering sympathy. It is not too much to say that Helen Ward was more embarrassed than she would have been had she found herself thus suddenly in the presence of royalty. "I am sorry you were frightened," she said, hesitatingly. "I can't believe that he really would have hurt you."
"Huh," grunted Bobby. "I'm darned glad we was outside of that there fence."
Maggie's big eyes were eloquent with compassion. "Did—did he scare yer, too?"
Helen held back her tears with an effort. "Yes, dear, he frightened me, too—dreadfully."
With shy friendliness, little Maggie drew closer. "Is he—is he sure 'nuff, yer father?"
"Yes," returned Helen, "he is my father."
"Gee!" ejaculated Bobby. "An' is he always like that?"
"Oh, no, indeed," returned Helen, quickly. "Father is really kind and good, but he—he is sick now and not wholly himself, you see."
"Huh," said Bobby. "He didn't act very sick to me. What's ailin' him?"
Helen answered slowly, "I—we don't just know what it is. The doctors say it is a nervous trouble."