He let her keep his hand, but he did not press hers. He stood bolt-upright, his eyes upon the driving snow; his tone was constrained: "A father never stops loving his children, my daughter, let them do what they may."
Flea twisted around to get a good view of his face.
"Have I done anything to displease you, father? Maybe 'twas some silly thing I said when I was out of my head. Mother says I talked dreadfully sometimes. You know I didn't mean it. Won't you forgive it, and let me be your own lassie again?"
She was crying fast, clinging to his hand and covering it with kisses. He drew it away gently, and put his thumb and finger into the pocket of his waistcoat, bringing out with them a paper, creased and worn by much handling.
"Look at that!" he said, in a tone that arrested her tears.
FLEA UNFOLDED IT AND GAVE A CRY OF SURPRISE.
Flea unfolded it, and gave a cry of surprise.
"My report! Where did it come from?"
"You ought to know."