I was startled and at the same time touched by the deep sadness of her tone.
"Perhaps he thought you were dead," I suggested.
"Thought I was dead!" repeated Winifred, in surprise.
Then she burst into a peal of laughter.
"Winifred," I cried, bending toward her, "think that—think anything rather than that your father has forgotten you or does not care for you."
The tears came into her eyes, but she suddenly turned away from the subject, as she usually did when deeply moved—a habit which she had in common with her father.
"You never saw my classroom, did you?" she inquired.
I answered that I had not.
"Then I will ask if I may take you up to see it," she said, darting away for the desired permission.