I am worried about Father. He does not look, and is not, at all well. The old trouble, which dates back to his Spanish-American War days, has returned, and with it, disquieting heart symptoms. I got Dr. Mac off in a corner, lately, and asked him to tell me truly what he thought of Father's condition. "He seems so _tired_ all the time," I said. And Dr. Mac looked very grave. "Lassie," he told me, "Your father's a sick man. And a careless one. He's not minded his own aches and pains all these years, nor spared himself. And he's not as young as he was." When I said something to Father, he laughed at me. "MacAllister is an old woman," he said, "fussing and fretting. I'll be all right presently, my little girl. Don't worry. The main thing is to get you on your feet, and then we'll be off to Florida for a long, long holiday. Bless that boy!" he added, and I knew that he meant Dr. Denton. Well, I bless him too, when Sarah wheels me down the garden paths and I reach out to touch the big friendly flowers. I feel so strong, so strong! They have to watch me now, for I am like to do all manner of foolish things, with the old languor gone, and the new red blood singing through my veins. But when Doctor Denton comes and looks at me out of those cool eyes, and asks, "Well, how are the tantrums lately, Miss Carroll?" I'm in no mood for blessing him then! GREEN HILL October 20 Oh! Oh! Diary, if you ever go automobiling, you'll never be content to sit in my desk drawer again. It's too wonderful! This morning, bundled up to my eyes, I was taken from my chair, lifted into Mr. John Denton's great, grey, purring beast, and with Dr. William Denton at the wheel, and Father and Mr. Denton beside me, I was taken, quietly and smoothly, over the hill road, down the valley, and through the wide Meadow Road, on my first tour of exploration. Eleven years! Eleven years! Back through the village we came, after an all too short half-hour. Somehow the news had spread, and from every gate and window, hands waved and friendly faces peered. They were glad to see me, the Green Hill people. "Is she crying?" asked Dr. Denton at the wheel, with interest. I wanted to. I wanted to cry and laugh and shout all at once. Instead I folded my hands more tightly in Father's and said demurely, "Sorry, but she isn't." Dr. Denton nodded, slouched down in his seat, his strong brown hands doing marvellous things to the wheel. "Please," I asked Mr. Denton, "next time you take me riding, will you drive, and may I sit in the front seat and watch you steer?" Everyone laughed. "Ask Bill," answered my old friend, "I've just sold him the car." "You may ride in the front seat--with me," announced Dr. Denton graciously, before I had time to withdraw my request, "always providing that you do not clutch my arm at inopportune moments, or scream as you did six minutes back," he added, "when that mongrel pup appeared on the horizon, a good mile away."