“Hello, Rosalinda! Which leg?”
Proudly Rosa stuck the injured member, in its white bandages, outside the bed covering.
“That one! ‘Busted’ badly!” she mocked. “But Daddy, there’s Nancy. She’s scared to death of me, Nancy, come over here—”
Nancy knew Rosa’s father, the handsome Uncle Frederic who had visited them in their own little home, so she was not at all embarrassed in greeting him.
He was as tall and handsome as ever, Nancy could not help noticing, and his welcome to her made her feel almost comfortable—if only she had the meeting of his new wife over with.
“Where’s Betty?” asked Rosa, rather quietly when her father had taken his place beside her bed.
“She’ll be along presently. We had rather a tiring drive—the roads are in their usual bad summer condition. But tell me about the accident, Linda? How did it all happen?”
As father and daughter talked, Nancy noticed how particular he was to know as much and more than Rosa seemed anxious to tell. He was most solicitous about Rosa’s condition, however, and so affectionate that he called her a different name each time he addressed her, yet he was very positive in his manner. Evidently, he was not too sure of his daughter’s prudence.
“Of course, it’s all right for you to go out to the park with Garfield and Adell,” he said, “but never alone, Rosy-kins, not even with Nancy and in the day-time. Remember, I don’t want to have you lost in the New Hampshire forests, you know.”
Rosa fairly glowed under her father’s interest and affection. Sitting by the window and watching this play, Nancy realized what Rosa’s father meant to her—just what Nancy’s mother meant to Nancy.