"I'll tell you, Dad," replied Shirley, smiling.

"Oh, well," said her father, "that is a different matter. You and your mother are alike, both tyrants."

He stepped aside, and thus allowed the first of the pa.s.sengers who had been held back by this conversation to descend; and as the next one was Mabel, he caught her in his arms and held her also for a moment.

"Where is father?" asked Mabel gently, freeing herself from the elderly man's caresses.

"He's waiting at home for you," replied Mr. Willing.

"Why didn't he come to meet me?"

"Well," said Mr. Willing, "I reckon he wasn't feeling quite as well as he might, so he asked me to do the honors."

"Is he sick?" asked Mabel anxiously.

"I reckon you might call it sick."

"How sick?"

"Well, now, he's not so sick; but if he pays much attention to some of these doctors he soon will be."

Mabel was growing more and more anxious.

"Do let us hurry and get home," she said.

"Now, now, dear, don't excite yourself," said Mr. Willing. "I reckon he will soon be all right again."

On the opposite side of the station a large touring car waited. Mr.

Willing pushed the two girls into the back seat and then took his place by the negro chauffeur.

"Home, Frank," he said.

"Yessah," replied the old darky, and started the car on its way.

Mabel leaned forward and spoke to Mr. Willing.

"You will take me home first, won't you?" she asked.

"Your father," was the reply, "has been staying with me for the last week. He is there now. You see, he was kind o' lonely without his girl, so I just had him come to me."

The automobile quickly covered the three miles to the Willing farm, and stopped before a broad wooden gate. This opened upon a broad blue-gra.s.s field on which a fine herd of cattle were grazing.

"I'll open the first," called Shirley, and jumped out of the car.

She threw it wide, and the car pa.s.sed through. Mabel opened the second one into the paddock, and Shirley the third.

"There," she said, when she was back in the car rolling through the long yard. "I'm always glad when that is done, although I don't believe I mind opening gates now."

"Nor I," said Mabel. "I remember that is one reason I hated to come here sometimes, there were so many gates to open."

"The older you get," said Mr. Willing, who had overheard this conversation, "the less you will mind a little work."

The car now drew up before a big red brick house, surrounded by many shade trees. The two girls jumped out lightly, and Mr. Willing followed slowly.

Mabel needed no directions as to where to find her father and, running into the house, she ran up the stairs and into the front bedroom.

She opened the door with a quick jerk, and then paused. The quiet figure in the bed caught her eye. It was her father, and he was sleeping.

Mabel tip-toed toward the bed, and bent over. Her father's face was pale, but he seemed to be resting easily.

"Poor father," said Mabel. "I won't disturb him now."

She turned and made her way toward the door. As she laid her hand upon the k.n.o.b and was about to turn it, a voice called:

"Mabel!"

The girl turned. Her father was sitting up.

"Mabel!" he called again. Gladly the girl ran to him and was at once clasped in his arms.

"I didn't want to wake you," she said.

"You know very well," was the reply, "that, after such a long absence, your very presence was bound to awaken me. I was asleep, but I must have felt that you had returned."

Mabel sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Now tell me all about yourself," she said. "How long have you been sick?"

"About a month," was the reply.

"Why didn't you write and tell me about it?"

"I didn't want to spoil your vacation."

"The idea! I would have come home at once to care for you."

"That is the reason I didn't write."

"What does the doctor say is the matter?"

"Well, he has not diagnosed the case satisfactorily, but he says I have some sort of lung trouble."

Mabel sprang to her feet.

"You don't mean--" she exclaimed.

"Yes," interrupted her father. "I am afraid that is what it is. He says that I must go away from here at once."