That evening Helen denied herself to Mr. Brandt and several other callers. She sat on the porch with her father while he smoked his pipe.
"Where's Will?" she asked.
"Gone after snipe, so he said," replied her father.
"Snipe? How funny! Imagine Will hunting! He's surely catching the wild fever Colonel Zane told us about."
"He surely is."
Then came a time of silence. Mr. Sheppard, accustomed to Helen's gladsome spirit and propensity to gay chatter, noted how quiet she was, and wondered.
"Why are you so still?"
"I'm a little homesick," Helen replied reluctantly.
"No? Well, I declare! This is a glorious country; but not for such as you, dear, who love music and gaiety. I often fear you'll not be happy here, and then I long for the old home, which reminds me of your mother."
"Dearest, forget what I said," cried Helen earnestly. "I'm only a little blue to-day; perhaps not at all homesick."