How like her Peggy had grown in looks and a thousand little mannerisms.  From the moment Peggy had met him at the Round Bay station to this one, he had lived in a sort of waking dream, partly in the past, partly in the present, and in the strangest possible mental confusion.  His memory picture of Peggy as he had left her in October of the previous year was of the little hoyden in short skirts, laughing and prancing from morning till night, and leading Mammy Lucy a life of it.

In nine months the little romp had blossomed into a very charming young girl, dainty and sweet as a wild rose in her white duck sailor suit, with its dark red collar, her hair braided in soft coils about her head and adorned with a big red bow.  The embryo woman stood before him.

“Yes, how old are you?” he insisted, looking at her with mingled, puzzled eyes.

“Oh, Daddy, you know I was fourteen in January,” she said half reproachfully.  “You sent me such beautiful things from Japan.”

“Yes, but you might be eighteen now from your looks and height.  And living here alone with the servants.  Why—­why, it’s, it’s all out of order; you are off your course entirely.  You must have someone with you, or go somewhere, or—­or—­well something has got to be done and right off, too,” and poor perplexed Neil Stewart ran his hand through his curly, gray-tinged hair in a distracted manner.  Peggy looked startled, then serious.  Such a contingency as this incumbent upon growing up had never entered her head.  Must the old order of things which she so loved, and all the precious freedom of action, give way to something entirely new?  Harrison had more than once hinted that such would be the case when Daddy Neil came home and found a young lady where he expected to find a little girl.

“Oh, Daddy, please don’t talk about that now.  You’ve only just got here and I’ve ten thousand things to tell and show you.  Let’s not think of the future just yet.  It’s such a joy to just live now.  To have you here and see you and hug you, and love you hard,” cried Peggy suiting her actions to her words.  Mr. Stewart shook his head, but did not beggar his response to the caress.  It sent a glow all through him to feel that this beautiful young girl was his daughter, the mistress of the home he so loved, but so rarely enjoyed.

“We’ll have a truce for a week, honey, and during that time we’ll do nothing but enjoy each other.  Then we’ll take our reckoning and lay our course by chart, for I’m convinced that I, at least, have been running on dead reckoning and you—­well—­I guess the good Lord’s been at the helm and taken in hand my job with a good deal of credit to Himself and confounded little to me.  But it’s my watch from now on.  I wish your mother were here, sweetheart.  You need her now,” and Neil Stewart again drew the young girl into his strong, circling arm.  “I’d resign tomorrow if—­if—­well, when I resign I want four stripes at least on my sleeve to leave you as a memory in the years to come.  Now show me the ropes.  I’m a stranger on board my own ship.”