Capn Dans Daughter | Page 8

mean? Bad news?"
"No, no! Good as ever was, and. . . . Humph! no, I don't mean that. It is
bad news, of course. Your Great-aunt Laviny's dead, Gertie."
He told of the lawyer's letter, omitting for the present the news of the
legacy. Gertrude was interested, but not greatly shocked or grieved. She
had met her great-aunt but once during her lifetime, and her memory of
the deceased was of a stately female, whose earrings and brooches and
rings sparkled as if she was on fire in several places; who sat bolt
upright at the further end of a hotel room in Boston, and ordered
Captain Dan not to bring "that child" any nearer until its hands were
washed. As she had been the child and had distinctly disagreeable
recollections of the said hands having been washed three times before
admittance to the presence, the memory was not too pleasant. She said
she was sorry to hear that Aunt Lavinia was no more, and asked when it
happened. Her father told what he knew of the circumstances attending
the bereavement, which was not much.
"She's gone, anyhow," he said. "It's liable to happen to any of us, bein'
cut off that way. We ought to be prepared, I suppose."
"I suppose so. But, Daddy, Aunt Lavinia wasn't cut off exactly, was she?
She was your aunt and she must have been quite old."
"Hey? Why, let's see. She was your grandpa's brother's wife, and
he--Uncle Jim, I mean--was about four years older than Father. She was
three years younger'n he was when he married her. Let's see again.
Father--that's your grandpa, Gertie--was sixty-five when he died and . . .
Humph! No, Aunt Laviny was eighty-eight, or thereabouts. She wasn't
exactly cut off, was she, come to think of it?"
Gertrude's brown eyes twinkled. "Not exactly--no," she said, gravely.
"Well, Daddy, I'm sure I am sorry she has gone, but, considering that
she has never deigned to visit us or have us visit her, or even to write
you a letter for the past two years, I don't think we should be expected

to mourn greatly. And," glancing at him, "I don't understand just what
you meant by saying first that the news was good, and then that it was
bad. There is something else, isn't there?"
Her father smiled, in an embarrassed way. "Well, ye--es," he admitted,
"there is somethin' else, but--but I don't know as I didn't do wrong to
feel so good over it. I--I guess I'll tell you by and by, if you don't mind.
Maybe then I won't feel--act, I mean--so tickled. It don't seem right that
I should be. Let me get sort of used to it first. I'll tell you pretty soon."
His daughter laughed, softly. "I know you will, Dad," she said. "You
couldn't keep a secret in that dear old head of yours if you tried. Not
from me, anyway; could you, dear?"
"I guess not," regarding her fondly. "Anyhow, I shan't try to keep this
one. Well, this time to-morrow you'll be back at college again, in
among all those Greek and Latin folks. Wonder she'll condescend to
come and talk plain United States to us Cape Codders, ain't it, John."
John Doane admitted that it was a wonder. He seemed to regard Miss
Dott as a very wonderful young person altogether. Gertrude glanced up
at him, then at her father, and then at the blotter on the desk. She
absently played with the pages of the ledger.
"Dad," she said, suddenly, "you are not the only one who has a secret."
The captain turned and looked at her. Her head was bent over the
ledger and he could see but the top of a very becoming hat, a stray lock
of wavy brown hair, and the curve of a very pretty cheek. The
cheek--what he could see of it--was crimson. He looked up at Mr.
Doane. That young man's face was crimson also.
"Oh!" said Captain Daniel; and added, "I want to know!"
"Yes, you're not the only one. We--I--there is another secret. Daddy,
dear, John wants to talk with you."
The captain looked at Mr. Doane, then at the hat and the face beneath

it.
"Oh!" he said, again.
"Yes. I--I--" She rose and, putting her arms about her father's neck,
kissed him. "I will be back before long, dear," she whispered, and
hurried out. Mr. Doane cleared his throat. Captain Dan waited.
"Well, sir," began the young man, and stopped. The captain continued
to wait.
"Well, sir," began Mr. Doane, again, "I--I--" For one who, as Gertrude
had declared, wished to talk, he seemed to be finding the operation
difficult. "I--Well, sir, the fact is, I have something to say to you."
Captain Dan, who was looking