“Oh, why was I away!” she exclaimed at the end, but it was her only lamentation. “He can say very hard and cruel things,” she added; “you have not told me all of them, but I can guess.” She went to the workshop to speak to her father, but David met her at the door. “He feels better,” the boy reported, “but he said he would like to be by himself a little. He is up and walking about; I really think he will be happier if he is left alone.” They peeped in at the door and saw that Mr. Reynolds was, as David had said, standing at the bench, busy as ever, with a tool in his hand. He was handling the wrench awkwardly, as though his fingers had not much strength, but he appeared intent and absorbed, almost himself again. Elizabeth, nevertheless, was not satisfied. She could not believe that any one so stricken as had been Mr. Reynolds an hour before, could have really recovered so quickly. Rather shyly she suggested that she should stay all night, “just so that you will not be all alone, if he should be ill again,” as she told Miss Miranda, and, on her friend’s relieved acceptance of the suggestion, was glad that she had offered. David went across the hill to get the things that she had telephoned to Anna to pack, while Betsey mounted the stairs with Miss Miranda to prepare a sleeping place. “We have so few guests that I have no regular spare bedroom,” her hostess explained. “If you do not mind, you will have to sleep on the couch here beside the toy-cupboard.” Later, as she went to and fro about the house, Elizabeth peeped in more than once to see how Mr. Reynolds was faring in the workshop. She stood at the door, not daring to speak or to disturb him, so busy did he seem. His face looked white, deeply lined and very tired; never had he appeared to her so really old. He was toiling very earnestly so that she felt sure he must be gaining some comfort from his work. Once, however, when she looked in she did not see him. The far corners of the room were so very dim that he might be there among the shadows, but she did not like to go in to make sure. Miss Miranda called her for something at that moment and kept her longer than she expected. Later, when she went back to make sure of his absence before she mentioned it, she saw that he was at work again by the bench and she began to believe that she must have been mistaken. He was standing beneath the light, putting away a great array of tools in a drawer. David, returning from his errand, came whistling up to the door. “Are you sure you do not need a doctor?” he inquired anxiously. Miss Miranda was certain that a doctor would only disturb and upset her father. She had broached the subject to him earlier and had found the idea so distressed him, that she had given it up.