Then he went to the window, and looked at the lawn, and sighed. Then he sat down, and thought of the past.
Whilst he sat thus moody, the door opened very softly, and a little cherubic face, with blue eyes and golden hair, peeped in. Griffith started. "Ah!" cried Rose, with a joyful scream: and out flew her little arms, and away she came, half running, half dancing, and was on his knee in a moment, with her arms round his neck.
"Papa! papa!" she cried. "Oh, my dear, dear, dear, darling papa!" And she kissed and patted his cheek again and again.
Her innocent endearments moved him to tears. "My pretty angel!" he sighed: "my lamb!"
"How your heart beats: don't cry, dear papa. Nobody is dead: only we thought you were. I'm so glad you are come home alive. Now we can take off this nasty black: I hate it."
"What, 'tis for me you wear it, pretty one?"
"Ay. Mamma made us. Poor mamma has been so unhappy. And that reminds me: you are a wicked man, papa. But I love you all one for that. It tis so dull when everybody is good like mamma; and she makes me dreadfully good too; but now you are come back, there will be a little, little, wickedness again, it is to be hoped. Aren't you glad you are not dead, and are come home instead? I am."
"I am glad I have seen thee. Come, take my hand, and let us go look at the old place."
"Ay. But you must wait till I get on my new hat and feather."
"Nay, nay; art pretty enough bareheaded."