Victoria Herrendeen came up from the beach with her sandy fingers tight in her father’s hand.  Those girls down there had been mean to her because she didn’t understand the French they were jabbering with Mademoiselle, and they had laughed at her.  When Dad had appeared, with his usual smile, wearing his old blue coat  and the loose old white trousers Mother sometimes let him wear on a summer morning, he had looked to his daughter like an angel of light.  Here was her unfailing friend and champion.