She sat down on the arm of his chair.
"Haven't you slept well, Gran'pa?" she asked anxiously, and then her eyes wandered through the open door to the next room and rested on the undisturbed bed. "Why, you haven't slept at all, dear!" she cried in distress. "What is wrong? Are you ill?"
"No, no, Mary Louise; don't worry. I—I shall be all right presently. But—I was terribly disappointed in last night's meeting, and—"
"I see. They didn't subscribe what they ought to. But you can't help that, Gran'pa Jim! You did all that was possible, and you mustn't take it so much to heart."
"It is so important, child; more important, I fear, than many of them guess. This will be a desperate war, and without the money to fight—"
"Oh, the money'll come, Gran'pa; I'm sure of that. If Dorfield doesn't do it's duty, the rest of the country will, so you mustn't feel badly about our failure. In fact, we haven't failed, as yet. How much did they subscribe last night?"
"In all, a hundred and thirty thousand. We have now secured barely a third of our allotment, and only five days more to get the balance!"
Mary Louise reflected, eyeing him seriously.
"Gran'pa," said she, "you've worn yourself out with work and worry. They ought not to have put you on this Liberty Bond Committee; you're too old, and you're not well or strong enough to endure all the anxiety and hard work."
"For the honor of—"