She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. “Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked. ‘But I have the pistol,’ Gerald pointed out. Rollo began to cavort. Sheppard uttered a piercing scream. ” “Why on earth—? A man ought to be labelled. She looked at him as he fingered a small switch on the side of the helicopter’s door. They were very nice about it, in memory of your father. '" "Let me see," cried Jack, snatching the paper, and eagerly perusing the advertisement. She came along with the fluttering assurance of some tall ship. Anna glanced into her sister’s face, and rose to her feet. .
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