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Isobel had hard work to keep back the tears. Jerry was all sympathy. "I won't tell anyone, Isobel, if you don't want me to. And let me look at your knee it is your knee, isn't it? I know a lot about those things 'cause Little-Dad's a doctor, you see." Jerry knelt by the side of Isobel's chair and gently drew aside the dressing gown. "Oh, Isobel!" she cried softly.
Little-Dad's my father," she explained. "I'd rather believe that you're a woodland nymph and live in yonder birch grove, but I suppose your garments look so very man-made that you have a regular given-to-you-in-baptism name?" "I should say I had!" the girl cried in undisguised disgust. "Jerauld Clay Travis. I hate it. Nearly every girl I know is named something nice Rose and Lily and Clementina.
He felt very much ashamed and really better for having given way! "Are you all right now?" "Yes or I will be in a moment. Just give me a hand." He marveled at the dexterity with which she lifted him against her slim shoulder. "Little-Dad's gone over to Rocky Point, but I knew what to do," she said proudly. "I s'pose you're from Wayside?" He looked around. "Where is Wayside?"
And I've cleaned Little-Dad's pipes. And I've promised Bigboy and Pepperpot and Dormouse that they may all sleep on my bed to-night. I'm afraid Pepperpot he's so sensitive is going to miss me dreadfully!" Jerry tried to frown away the thought; she did not want it to intrude upon her joy. That last evening she sat quietly on the porch with one hand in her mother's and the other in Little-Dad's.
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