He released her arms from his neck and walked toward the fire, stripping off his gray mackintosh as he moved. There he stretched his hands to the blaze sod went on: “As I say, the 'fill' is safe and will stay so, for the water is going down rapidly; dropped ten feet, Breen, since you left. My!--but this fire feels good! Got into something dry--did you, Breen? That's right. But I am not satisfied about the way the down-stream end of the culvert acts”--this also was addressed to Jack--“I am afraid some part of the arch has caved in. It will be bad if it has--we shall know in the morning. You weren't frightened, Puss, were you?” She did not answer. She had heard that cheery, optimistic note in her father's voice before; she knew how much of it was meant for her ears. None of his disasters were ever serious, to hear daddy talk--“only the common lot of the contracting engineer, little girl,” he would say, kissing her good-night, while he again pored over his plans, sometimes until daylight. She crept up to him the closer and nestled her fingers inside his collar--an old caress of hers when she was a child, then looking up into his eyes she asked with almost a throb of suffering in her voice, “Is it as bad as the coffer-dam, daddy?” Jack looked on in silence. He dared not add a word of comfort of his own while his Chief held first place in soothing her fears. MacFarlane passed his hand over her forehead--“Don't ask me, child! Why do you want to bother your dear head over such things, Puss?” he asked, as he stroked her hair. “Because I must and will know. Tell me the truth,” she demanded, lifting her head, a note of resolve in her voice. “I can help you the better if I know it all.” Some of the blood of one of her great-great-grandmothers, who had helped defend a log-house in Indian times, was asserting itself. She could weep, but she could fight, too, if necessary. “Well, then, I'm afraid it is worse than the coffer-dam,” he answered in all seriousness. “It may be a matter of twelve or fifteen thousand dollars--maybe more, if we have to rebuild the 'fill.' I can't tell yet.” Ruth released her grasp, moved to the sofa and sank down, her chin resting on her hand. Twelve or fifteen thousand dollars! This meant ruin to everybody--to her father, to--a new terror now flashed into her mind--to Jack--yes, Jack! Jack would have to go away and find other work--and just at the time, too, when he was getting to be the old Jack once more. With this came another thought, followed by an instantaneous decision--what could she do to help? Already she had determined on her course. She would work--support herself--relieve her father just that much.