DAVID telephoned to the hotel early in the afternoon and found Fidelia in her room. His father had left and when David asked if she had had a very hard morning, she replied: "What do you think, David? I actually got him into a canoe. Then we had lunch here." Consequently, David felt relieved. He always was bothered when his father was in town and particularly when his father was calling upon Fidelia; he was glad this call was over without having hurt her unusually.
Of course David understood her far better than did his father yet David had little comprehension of the habit of concealment of her hurts and troubles which Fidelia practiced. She was so affectionate and she showed her happiness so obviously that he supposed, if she felt unhappy, she must show that too. But he did not realize the effect upon Fidelia of having been cast upon her own very early in life. At seven when she was sent away to school, already she had learned to keep her griefs to herself and her long lack of home, her continuous attendance at schools had fixed her habit.
Her diary became her outlet. When she was only ten she had learned that if she wrote out a trouble she lost the pressure of the feeling that she had to tell it.
David never suspected this use for her diary; he
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