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The Captain's Return
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“Devil take it, Annabel, come down off your high ropes! May we not call a truce?”
The exasperation in his voice had startled Rebecca into dropping her shovel. She began instantly to cry.
“Now see what you’ve done!”
But Annabel’s attention shifted quickly to her daughter. It had not been, she at once guessed, the loud voice that had upset the child, but the consequent ruin of her careful efforts. Rebecca was notoriously sensitive concerning any little task she undertook. She would tolerate neither interference nor destruction in any part of what she had achieved.
The earth had scattered, spoiling the neatness of her arrangements. It did not matter that her own unsteady hand had left a trail between the hole and the dirt pile, for that was part of the pattern. But her complaints, which were largely unintelligible through her sobs, evidently encompassed that area which had been dirtied by the little accident, for her small fists were beating at the ground.
“Come now, Becky, that is enough!” said Annabel with authority. “See, I will clean it for you, and it will be as good as ever.”
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