"Would you like now to hear the remainder of the story we were reading yesterday, daughter?" he asked.
"Very much, papa; I have been wanting it all day."
"Why did you not ask for it, then?" he inquired.
"Because, papa, I was ashamed, after being so naughty about it yesterday," she answered, hanging her head and blushing deeply.
"Well, you shall have it now, daughter," he said luridly, pressing his lips to the little blushing cheek. "I had forgotten about it, or I would have given you the book to read while I was out this morning."
A very pleasant, happy life had now begun for our little Elsie: all her troubles seemed to be over, and she was surrounded by everything that heart could wish. Her father watched over her with the tenderest love and care; devoting the greater part of his time to her entertainment and instruction, sparing neither trouble nor expense to give her pleasure, and though still requiring unhesitating, cheerful obedience to his wishes and commands—yet ruling her not less gently than firmly. He never spoke to her now in his stern tone, and after a while she ceased to expect and dread it.
Her health improved quite rapidly after their removal to the Oaks, and before Christmas came again she was entirely equal to a little stroll in the grounds, or a short ride on her favorite pony.
Her cheeks were becoming round and rosy again, and her hair had grown long enough to curl in soft, glossy little ringlets all over her head, and her father thought her almost prettier than ever. But he was very careful of her still, scarcely willing to have her a moment out of his sight, lest she should become over-fatigued, or her health be injured in some way; and he always accompanied her in her walks and rides, ever watching over her with the most unwearied love. As her health and strength returned he permitted her, in accordance with her own wishes, gradually to resume her studies, and took great pleasure in instructing her; but he was very particular to see that she did not attempt too much, nor sit poring over her books when she needed exercise and recreation, as she was sometimes rather inclined to do.
"Massa, dere's a gentleman wants to speak to you," said a servant, looking in at the study door one afternoon a few days before Christmas.
"Very well, John, show him into the library, and I will be there in a moment," replied Mr. Dinsmore, putting down his book.
He glanced at Elsie's little figure, half buried in the cushions of a great easy-chair near one of the windows, into which she had climbed more than an hour before, and where she had been sitting ever since, completely lost to all that might be going on about her, in the deep interest with which she was following the adventures of FitzJames in Scott's "Lady of the Lake."
"Daughter, I am afraid you are reading more to-day than is quite good for you," he said, looking at his watch. "You must put up your book very soon now, and go out for a walk. I shall probably be down in ten or fifteen minutes; but if I am not, you must not wait for me, but take Aunt Chloe with you."
"Yes, papa," she replied, looking up from her book for an instant, and then returning to it again as he left the room.
She had not the least intention of disobeying, but soon forgot everything else in the interest of her story.
The stranger detained Mr. Dinsmore much longer than he had expected, and the short winter day was drawing rapidly to a close when he returned to his study, to find Elsie—much to his surprise and displeasure—precisely where he had left her.
She was not aware of his entrance until he was close beside her; then, looking up with a start, she colored violently.
He gently took the book from her hand and laid it away, then, lifting her from the chair, led her across the room, where he seated himself upon the sofa, and drawing her in between his knees, regarded her with a look of grave, sad displeasure.
"Has my little daughter any idea how long it is since her father bade her put up her book?" he asked in a gently reproving tone.
Elsie hung her head in silence, and a tear rolled quickly down her burning cheek.
"It grieves me very much," he said, "to find that my little girl can be so disobedient! it almost makes me fear that she does not love me very much."
"Oh, papa, don't! oh, don't say that! I can't bear to hear it!" she cried, bursting into an agony of tears and sobs, and hiding her face on his breast. "I do love you very much, papa, and I can't bear to think I've grieved you," she sobbed. "I know I am very naughty, and deserve to be punished—but I didn't mean to disobey, only the book was so interesting I didn't know at all how the time went."
He sighed, but said nothing; only drew her closer to him, pulling his arm around her, and stroking her hair in a gentle, caressing way.
There was no sound for some moments but Elsie's sobs.
Then she asked in a half whisper, "Are you going to punish me, papa?"
"I shall take the book from you for a few days; I hope that will be punishment enough to make you pay better attention to my commands in future," he said very gravely.
"Dear papa how kind you are! I am sure I deserve a great deal worse punishment than that," she exclaimed, raising her head and looking up gratefully and lovingly into his face, "but I am very, very sorry for my disobedience; will you please forgive me?"
"I will, daughter," and he bent down and kissed her lips.
"Now go," he said, "and get your cloak and hood. I think we will still have time for a little stroll through the grounds before dark."
Elsie had very little to say during their walk, but moved silently along by her father's side, with her hand clasped in his; and he, too, seemed unusually abstracted.
It was quite dusk when they entered the house again, and when the little girl returned to the study, after Chloe had taken off her wrappings, she found her father seated in an easy-chair, drawn up on one side of a bright wood fire that was blazing and crackling on the hearth.
Elsie dearly loved the twilight hour, and it was one of her greatest pleasures to climb upon her father's knee and sit there talking or singing, or perhaps, oftener, just laying her head down on his breast and watching the play of the fire-light on the carpet, or the leaping of the flame hither and thither.
Mr. Dinsmore sat leaning back in his chair, apparently in deep thought, and did not hear Elsie's light step.
She paused for one instant in the doorway, casting a wistful, longing look at him, then, with a little sigh, walked softly to the other side of the fire-place, and seated herself in her little rocking-chair.
For several minutes she sat very quietly gazing into the fire, her little face wearing a very sober, thoughtful look. But she was startled out of her reverie by the sound of her father's voice.
"Why am I not to have my little girl on my knee to-night?" he was asking.
She rose instantly, in a quick, eager way, and ran to him.
"If you prefer the rocking-chair, stay there, by all means," he said.
But she had already climbed to her accustomed seat, and, twining her arms around his neck, she laid her cheek to his, saying, "No, indeed, papa; you know I don't like the rocking-chair half so well as your knee; so please let me stay here."
"Why did you not come at first, then?" he asked in a playful tone.
"Because I was afraid, papa," she whispered,
"Afraid!" he repeated, with an accent of surprise, and looking as if he felt a little hurt.
"Yes, papa," she answered in a low tone, "because I have been so very naughty this afternoon that I know I don't deserve to come."
"Did you not hear me say I forgave you?" he asked.
"Yes, papa."
"Very well, then, if you are forgiven you are taken back into favor, just as if you had not transgressed; and if you had quite believed me, you would have come to me at once, and claimed a daughter's