'Tired, Helen?' asked the man solicitously.

'Aren't you?' she returned. 'It has been a hard day, papa.'

'I am afraid it has been hard on you, my dear,' he admitted, as his
eyes took stock of the drooping figure. 'But,' he added more
cheerfully, 'we are getting somewhere, my girl; we are getting
somewhere.'

'Are we?' she murmured to herself rather than for his ears. And when
he demanded 'Eh?' she said hastily: 'Anyway, we are doing something.
That is more fun than growing moss, even if we never succeed.'

'I tell you,' he declared forensically, lifting his hand for a gesture,
'I know! Haven't I demonstrated the infallibility of my line of
action? If a man wants to--to gather cherries, let him go to a cherry
tree; if he seeks pearls, let him find out the favourite habitat of the
pearl oyster; if he desires a--a hat, let him go to the hatter's. It
is the simplest thing in the world, though fools have woven mystery and
difficulty about it. Now----'

'Yes, pops.' Helen sighed again and saw wisdom in rising to her feet.
'If you will begin unpacking I'll make our beds. And I'll get the fire
started.'

'We can dispense with the fire,' he told her, setting to work with the
first knot to come under his fingers. 'There is coffee in the thermos
bottle and we can open a tin of potted chicken.'