"I wish you could," he said, drawing her closer to him. "But one of these days you're going to marry a prince. And now run back to bed. It's much too late—"
"It's no good, father dear. I couldn't get to sleep. I've been trying hard for hours. I've counted sheep till I nearly screamed. It's Rastus' fault. He snores so!"
Mr. McEachern regarded the erring bull-dog sternly.
"Why do you have the brutes in your room?"
"Why, to keep the boogaboos from getting me, of course. Aren't you afraid of the boogaboos getting you? But you're so big, you wouldn't mind. You'd just hit them. And they're not brutes—are you, darlings? You're angels, and you nearly burst yourselves with joy because auntie had come back from England, didn't you? Father, did they miss me when I was gone? Did they pine away?"
"They got like skeletons. We all did."
"You?"
"I should say so."
"Then, why did you send me away to England?"
"I wanted you to see the country. Did you like it?"
"I hated being away from you."
"But you liked the country?"
"I loved it."
McEachern drew a breath of relief. The only possible obstacle to the great change did not exist.
