Most of the time, Ernestine mused, it was stepfathers who molested the young girls, but she had known of many cases where the girl's real father had had sexual interests in their own, flesh-and-blood daughters. The unnatural, incestuous lust revulsed and disgusted the nurse, but there was little she could do about those situations, most of the time, it was too late. Dear God! Here's another lovely young girl, exposed to heaven only knows what…! A drunken, sex-maniac of a father, no doubt… peeping and pinching… waiting for his chance to… to debase her… ruin her! God! Why isn't there some way we can help… before it's too late? She had to know. She probed a little further.

"Are you afraid… of your father, Charity…?" she asked, "… afraid to be alone with him… afraid he might… do something to you…?"

Charity's face flamed. She looked up in disbelief at the school nurse who had dared to say what she had not even wanted to think.

"That's crazy, Mrs. Keaton… Why sh-should I-I…?" Tears welled into her lovely grey-green eyes, and she looked away, out of the window, across the sprawling campus, quiet now after the change of class.

Empathetically, Ernestine's heart reached out to the girl. She knew for sure, now, and she understood. Softly, she said, "I'm sorry, Charity. Please forgive an old lady for prying… and I do understand… and want to help you… if you need help."

"Wh-What's to h-help, Mrs. Keaton, go ahead and write m-my health excuse… a-and I-I'll go h-home…" she said, forlornly.

"It won't be necessary. I have an extra cot… just go on in the next room, there, lie down and rest. Stay until final dismissal."

Ernestine watched the girl as she left her office and went, obediently, into the separate room where several cots were provided for the girls' use.