Mr. Doane hardly knew how to tell Gloria that he had to leave her before the time originally arranged, but when he romped off to the orchard and she followed, helped her to spring up into her childhood nook in the big bulky apple tree, then he attempted to break the news.
“I know it’s a shame,” he said contritely, “but the old boat is going to toot off two days ahead of time.”
“Oh, that’s all right, dad,” replied Gloria brightly.
He looked at her in perplexity. “Not really anxious to get rid of the old bear—”
“Daddy-Kins!” And she fell from the tree into his arms. “You know every minute will be an hour and every hour a day—”
“I know, darling,” he assured her, embracing her fondly, “but I can’t help being jealous of the new folks. Sure you are going to like it all?”
“Because I’ve left it all to you and faithful Jane and your Aunt Hattie,” he continued. “I know they’ll take care of you, for there’s their own girl only two years older. But you see, girlie, you and I have been such cast iron pals.” They were now both sitting on a log—the apple tree cut down last year—and about them the twilight etched pictures in shadowy outlines. Gloria clung to her father with pathetic tenderness, yet, when he said he must go earlier a look of relief seemed to flash across her serious young face.
“I know how it is, little girl,” he ruminated.
“When you have to do a very hard thing you like to get it done with—”
“That’s it,” she sighed. “I have always felt that funerals would be easier to bear if folks didn’t think about them for day’s ahead—”
She laughed—she felt obliged to. Why had she said such a morbid thing as that?
“Oh, you know, dad, I’m just silly. The worst thing just now is that you and I are going—to—separate, and the other worst thing is always—that.” She struggled to explain.
“I know, sweetheart, I know.” A father can be so understanding.
For some moments they sat there not even breaking their sanctuary with an audible sigh, then Jane’s voice aroused them and they went back to see about locking the store room.
The very next day he was gone! And a crumpled little heap of palpitating sorrow was Gloria Doane!
“Don’t mind me, Jane, please don’t mind me,” she wailed, “I’ve just got—to cry—or I’ll choke!” she sobbed, shaking and shuddering in her grief as if the torrent would never leave her until it had consumed every ray of happiness hidden in the most secret recesses of her throbbing heart.