"
"Call upon me in the time of trouble," she read. He nodded.
"That's right. Now put it back. Gran said I must never lose it, and some
day if I remembered it, it might come in handy."
She tucked it safely away and he started to climb into bed.
"Jimmy, I always get washed before bed, don't you?" she suggested.
"Oh yes. I promised Gran. But it's hard to remember everything," he said
resignedly. But his washing was not very comprehensive; Marcella
promised herself a busy half-hour with him in the bathroom next morning.
He was asleep in two minutes, but Marcella did not attempt to undress
for a long time. She dragged the cabin trunk out from under the bunk
very quietly, and, sitting down on it, frowned. A queer thing had
happened to her. Over all her early life her father had towered like a
Colossus. The rest of the world had been filled with friends--friendly
visions, friendly people, friendly ghosts. She had not met anyone unkind
before. Conditions had never been anything but unkind; she expected cold
and hunger, hardness and discomfort. But that people could be unkind to
each other she had never realized. Then had come Louis's tale, which had
horrified her, Diddy's tale which had grieved her at first and then
puzzled her as she saw how easily the image of the sick girl was
replaced by that of a man who gave her meringues.
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