"Jack's sick," he remarked, presently.
"Indeed," replied Columbine.
"Yes. He said it was the drinkin' he's not accustomed to. Wal, I reckon it was what you called him. He didn't take much store on what I called him, which was wuss.... I tell you, lass, Jack's set his heart so hard on you thet it's turrible."
"Queer way he has of showing the--the affections of his heart," replied Columbine, shortly.
"Thet was the drink," remonstrated the old man, pathetic and earnest in his motive to smooth over the quarrel.
"But he promised me he would not drink any more."
Belllounds shook his gray old head sadly.
"Ahuh! Jack fires up an' promises anythin'. He means it at the time. But the next hankerin' thet comes over him wipes out the promise. I know.... But he's had good excuse fer this break. The boys in town began celebratin' fer October first. Great wonder Jack didn't come home clean drunk."
"Dad, you're as good as gold," said Columbine, softening. How could she feel hard toward him?
"Collie, then you're not agoin' back on the ole man?"