CHAPTER XIX.

FATHER AND DAUGHTER.

The first thing Billie saw next morning when she opened her eyes on a beautiful but heated world, was Nancy seated by the window reading a book, and at a second glance, she recognized it as her own prayer book.  If it had been Mary or Elinor who had risen at dawn to read the prayer book, Billie would not have been in the least surprised, for one was deeply religious, and the other also, though she never talked much about it.

Nancy, however, little frivolous butterfly, was not given to reading her testament or prayer book either, except at very infrequent intervals, certainly never early in the morning when other people were asleep.  Billie wondered and wondered what more could have happened to turn Nancy’s thought into this unusual channel.

“She must be unhappy,” she decided, “or she never would have got up at this time of day,” and there was a kind of sad humor in the thought which Billie did not appreciate at the moment.

When Nancy heard Billie stir, she closed the book hastily and crept back to bed and Billie pretended not to be awake.  She was sure Nancy would rather not have been caught at this act of unusual devotion, and she disliked the idea of being an eavesdropper, as it were, to Nancy’s innermost thoughts.  Nevertheless, when some time later, Nancy had dressed and gone out of the room, Billie could not resist the temptation to open the prayer book at the purple ribbon; it had been placed at “Prayers for Fair Weather,” which begins: 

“Almighty and most merciful Father, we humbly beseech thee of thy great goodness to restrain those immoderate rains wherewith for our sins thou hast afflicted us.”

Billie could scarcely keep from smiling when she followed Nancy into the dining-room.

“It’s about the queerest state of affairs that ever existed,” she thought, casting a covert glance at her unhappy friend who was munching dry toast.

Mr. Campbell came in late.  He looked flustered and disturbed about something.

“What is the matter with this household?” Billie’s thoughts continued.  “One would think an earthquake had shaken us out of our senses.  Even Papa is out of sorts.  I don’t think I ever saw him quite this way before.  As for me, I can’t seem to pull out of the general depression.  It’s just closing in on us and drawing us down.  Papa,” she exclaimed out loud, “I believe we need a trip.  When are you going to take us to the mountains?  Nancy is terribly run down, and Cousin Helen is feeling the heat, and Elinor and Mary and I are going to be run down, too, if you don’t hustle us off somewhere.”

“Very soon now, daughter.  Just one more piece of business to transact and—­er—­a question to settle, and I’ll pack you all off to a cool, dry place.”

“It will be the very opposite to this one, then,” announced Billie.  “Hot and damp are the words to use about Tokyo, and they do say the long rains are coming on—­” she stopped short and looked at Nancy.