"Little woman, that's too bad," he said with a consoling pat on the head
which seemed to take most of the pain away. "But after we bathe it and
tie it up it will feel better."

Kneeling beside the spring he took off his campaign hat of felt and
dipped it full of clear, cold water.

"Wow!" cried Virgie suddenly in the interval and she slapped her leg
with a resounding whack. "There are 'skeeters roun' this place. One of
'em bit me--an old _he_ one. Jiminy!"

"Did he?" asked her father, smiling as he came back with the hat. "Well,
honey, there are much worse things in this world than those little
fellows and if you don't complain any more than that you're going to be
a very happy lady when you grow up."

"Like Mamma?" asked the little tot, with a thoughtful face.

"Just like Mamma," the man repeated. "The loveliest--the bravest--and
the _best_." He wavered a little on his feet and the hat threatened to
slip through his fingers, but his daughter's great, dark eyes were
steady on his and, curiously enough, he seemed to draw strength to pull
himself together.

"And now, let's see. We'll have to get the grime off first. Just dip the
little wounded soldier in."

"What! My foot in your hat!" protested Virgie with a little scream. "Oh,
you poor daddy!"