"Do you know you are taking me on faith, my dear?" he asked, as he seated himself in the easy chair, by the fireplace, which she offered him, and scanned her face with smiling, kindly eyes.
"On faith?" Angel echoed. "But I know all about you, I do indeed! I have often heard father talk of Uncle Edward! You wanted him to go to Australia with you when he was a boy, didn't you?"
"Yes; but he preferred painting to sheep-farming!"
"Father loves painting. He is very clever! His pictures are beautiful."
The stranger allowed his glance to travel quickly around the room once more, after which he said musingly in a low tone, as though thinking aloud—
"He has not made his fortune?"
"No!" the little girl cried, "but he will some day; Mother used to say—Oh, did you know mother?"
"No, my dear, I never saw her. Are you like her in appearance? I think you must be, for you do not resemble your father in the least."
"I am like mother, I believe," Angel replied, a smile brightening her face. "I want to be like her. She was so sweet and good."
"Ah! Now, suppose you tell me about her."