Perhaps the sigh was loud enough to penetrate into the room behind, where Pattie was busy, putting a few last touches. It was easy to see that Pattie was tired with her week's toil, very tired indeed. The blue eyes were heavy, with dark shadows under them, and the small face was quite colourless. Yet as she came to the door, perhaps in response to that sigh, she smiled and spoke in a cheerful tone; for when Mr. Dale was depressed, Pattie was sure to wear a bright face. "How the birds do sing, daddy! Isn't it sweet?" "My dear, a man has to be easy in himself before he can enjoy birds' singing." "Do you think so? They comfort me. Poor little things—they all seem so happy." "For how long, I wonder?" Pattie was silent, and Mr. Dale made a doleful attempt at a rally. "Come—this won't do. I get a fit of the dumps now and then—not much wonder if I do, considering! But you mustn't mind me, my dear. Things can't be helped. How are you doing in the house? Got everything ship-shape?" "I have just finished the books. They look nice. Come and see them." She led him in as if he had been a child, and showed him the small book-case in their tiny dining-room, neatly filled. "We must read them all through together. I think books are such friends, don't you? The only friends you and I are likely to have." "But why? Why shouldn't we make new friends in Putworth? There are nice people everywhere." Mr. Dale shook his head. Then he surveyed the ceiling with doubtful eyes. "Seems to me this house is not too well built," he remarked. "Just look at those cracks. A house that hasn't been standing six months! I don't understand it. Wonder I didn't see them sooner." "It is a cracky house altogether," laughed Pattie. "There are cracks in the sitting-room as well, and all up the side of the passage. I never noticed them till to-day; at all events, I didn't see they were so big. And in my bedroom they are just as bad. It can't be helped. They don't look pretty, but we mustn't mind that. When you can spare a shilling or two, I'll get a few Japanese fans to pin over the worst of them, and then they won't matter." "Let me look at your bedroom, dear. I did not notice anything there." Pattie felt disinclined to go upstairs. "It doesn't signify," she said. "Lots of houses have cracks in them." "Not new houses, like this one, only just built. They ought not." He began to mount the staircase, and Pattie followed slowly. She wanted to see all the best points in their new home, not the worst, and she knew her father's tendency to get into a mournful mood over small discomforts. Naturally these big cracks, which oddly enough had made no previous impression, seemed less important to a young girl than to a man.