already, only he seemed in need of a stimulant. No, she did not want an escort. The night was lovely, and she wouldn't miss her solitary ride home for anything. She was so glad Mrs. Stiles had the whisky. It would be just what her father needed when he waked up.
And when, some hours later, Jacob Stanwood awoke, he found his daughter sitting beside him in the gray dawn.
"Why, Elizabeth!" he said, "is anything the matter? Did I disturb you?"
She leaned toward him, and laid her hand on his.
"You were ill in the night, papa, and asked for a stimulant, and I got it for you."
"A stimulant?" he repeated vaguely. "What stimulant? Where did you get it?"
"I got it at the store. It's whisky."
"Whisky?" he cried, with a sudden, eager gleam.
Elizabeth was enchanted to find that she had done the right thing.
"Here it is, papa," she said, drawing the flask from her pocket, and pouring a little of the contents into a glass that stood ready.
He watched her with that intense, eager gleam.
