XII
That assurance remained with her later on, when she and the judge sat down to a slightly belated breakfast. It had so far tranquilized her mood that she could chat with him across the table about Dr. Gerry’s sleepless night and the storm, while she poured out his coffee and put in the requisite amount of sugar and cream with a firm and graceful hand.
“I saw two telegraph-poles down,” she said. “The drifts have completely filled the hollow below Skerry’s Hill.”
The judge looked up sharply from his breakfast.
“Faunce had to cross that bridge. I wonder if he got home all right!”
She was a little startled, and then she smiled reassuringly.
“Why, of course, papa! It was early when he left. It was only snowing a little then; don’t you remember?”
“How did I know?” her father retorted with something like a growl. “This lumbago keeps me doubled up like a jack-in-the-box!”
“It’s too bad! I did hope Dr. Gerry had got the better of it, or had helped you to get the better of it; but I suppose this dreadful weather is sure to retard the case.”
“There isn’t any cure for it. I’ve told Gerry so a dozen times. If it stayed continuously, I should only be fit for a menagerie; but it’s intermittent, thank Heaven! By the way, Di, where’s the newspaper?”