"What is it, father?" she asked, gently, when she had come close to his
side. "Another one of your dreadful nervous headaches?"
He put a shaking hand to his brow. "Yes," he said wearily.
"I am so sorry," she returned, sitting down beside him. "You have been
thinking too hard again, haven't you?"
"Yes, I guess I have been thinking too hard."
"But you're going to stop all that now, aren't you?" she continued,
cheerily. "You're just going to forget the old Mill, and do nothing but
rest and play with me."
"Could I learn to play, do you think, Helen?"
"Why, of course you could, father, with me to teach you. That's the
best thing I do, you know."
He watched her closely. "And you don't think that I--that I am no
longer capable of managing my affairs?"
She laughed gayly. "What a silly question--_you_ capable--_you_,
father, the best brain--the best business executive in Millsburgh. You
know that is what everybody says of you. You are just tired, and need a
good rest, that is all."
The man's drooping shoulders lifted and his face brightened as he said,
slowly, "I guess perhaps you are right, daughter."
"I am sure of it," she returned, eagerly. Then she added brightly, as
if prompted by a sudden inspiration, "I'll tell you what you do--ask
the Interpreter.
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