“What was that all about, Grace?” he asked frowning. “I didn’t get what Ethel was drivin’ at.”
“Just making herself disagreeable, that’s all. I told a fib, but Ethel had no business to attack me that way before guests.”
“Ethel’s kind o’ different somehow,” he said, drawing the back of his hand across his mouth. “I guess she means all right. Funny, you children ain’t any of you alike,” he went on ruminatively. “I don’t ever seem to get much out o’ Ethel and Roy.”
“Roy and Ethel are both fond of you, daddy. And you know I adore you; I’m simply crazy about you!”
She pounced upon him and threw her arms about his neck, laughing at his struggles to avoid the kisses she distributed over such parts of his face as were free of grime.
“You’re a mighty fine girl, Grace. There mustn’t anything happen to you,” he said, freeing himself.
“Oh, you needn’t be afraid, you dear angel! Nothing’s going to happen to me! Here’s where I skip—vamoose—disappear! I’m going to take you to a show tonight—yes, I am! You be awfully surprised when I spring it at supper.”
III
Trenton wrote again that he would reach town at noon of Christmas day and expected to remain a week.
“Why didn’t you tell me Ward’s been sick?” asked Irene when Grace told her that he was coming. “You’re certainly the secretive little one.”