“The dinner!” I returned with some show of contempt, for I knew my wife was only teasing me. “What’s the dinner to the Atlantic?”
“What do you mean by the Atlantic, papa?” said Connie, from whose roguish eyes I could see that her mother had told her all about it, and that she was not disinclined to get up, if only she could.
“The Atlantic, my dear, is the name given to that portion of the waters of the globe which divides Europe from America. I will fetch you the Universal Gazetteer, if you would like to consult it on the subject.”
“O papa!” laughed Connie; “you know what I mean.”
“Yes; and you know what I mean too, you squirrel!”
“But do you really mean, papa,” she said “that you will take me to the Atlantic?”
“If you will only oblige me by getting Well enough to go as soon as possible.”
The poor child half rose on her elbow, but sank back again with a moan, which I took for a cry of pain. I was beside her in a moment.
“My darling! You have hurt yourself!”
“O no, papa. I felt for the moment as if I could get up if I liked. But I soon found that I hadn’t any back or legs. O! what a plague I am to you!”