And father's absence was an extra anxiety, for he was hours and hours behind his time. The papers reported fogs along the coast, and I thought of shipwrecks as the day wore on, and began to feel that it would be quite consistent with the drift of things if I were to get news presently that the Bendigo had gone down. I knew how he dreaded fogs, which made a good navigator as helpless as a bad one, and wondered if it implied an instinctive presentiment that a fog was to be his ruin! I remembered his telling me that if ever he was so unfortunate as to lose his ship, he should cast himself away along with her; and the appalling idea filled me not with anguish only, but with a sort of indignation against him. "And he with a young family depending on him!" I cried in my heart--as if he had already done it--"and a wife who would die if he went from her!" I was in that state of mind and health that when, early in the afternoon, I heard him come stumbling in, my solicitude for him suddenly passed, and only the bitter sense of grievance remained. The grocer had been calling in person, insolent about his account, which indeed had been growing to awful dimensions; and I was fairly sick of the whole thing. It was not my poor old fellow's fault, for he gave me his money as fast as he got it, but somehow I felt as if it was. And when he dumped down on the sofa beside me to look at Bobby, I began at once--without even kissing him--to pour out all my woes. I was reckless with misery and headache, and did not care what I said. I told him things I had been scrupulously keeping from him for months--things which I imagined would harrow him frightfully, much to my sorrow when it would be too late. And he--even _he_--seemed callous! He mumbled a soothing word or two, and fell silent. I asked him for advice and sympathy, and he never answered me. Looking at him, I saw that his eyes were shut, his head dropped, his great frame reeling as he sat, trying to prop himself with his broad hands on his broad, outspread knees. "Tom," I cried in despair, "you're not listening to a word I'm saying!" He jerked himself up. "I beg your pardon, Polly. The fact is, I'm dead-beat, my dear. It has been foggy, you know, and I haven't dared to turn in these two nights." It seemed as if _everything_ was determined to go wrong. I could see that his eyelids were swollen and gummy, and that he was half stupefied with fatigue. "What a shame it is!" I passionately complained. "What wretches those owners are--sitting at home in their armchairs, wallowing in luxury, while they make you slave like this--and give you next to nothing for it!" "It's no fault of theirs," said he. "They can't help the weather. And when I've had a few hours' sleep I shall be as right as ninepence. Then we'll talk things over, pet, and I'll see what can be done."