“Child! Why are you not in bed?” I asked.
“I've worked at idleness so long and so hard that I'm taking a little vacation,” said she. “I sat all night with father. He couldn't sleep, and we talked and talked, and then I read to him and he fell asleep half an hour ago, and I came down for a breath of the morning air.”
“Don't get reckless with your holiday—all night is a rather long pull,” I suggested.
“I enjoyed every minute. You see, I've never had a chance to do anything for him. My father has always been so busy, and I away in school or traveling with my mother or Mrs. Mushtop. I was never quite so happy as I am now.”
“There's nothing so restful as honest toil,” I said. “The fact is you've been overworking in the past—struggling with luncheons, teas, dinners, dressmakers, and dances, and getting through at midnight. It's too much for any human being. If you could only go to work in a laundry or a kitchen or a sick-room, how restful and soothing it would be!”
“I understand you now, Uncle Soc,” said she. “We must see that it pays. Last night I was so well paid for my work! I discovered my father. The night passed like magic and filled me with happiness. To-day life is worth living. He told me of his boyhood, and I told him of my girlhood and that I wanted to make it different.
“'You must let me do the nursing,' I said. “'Why?' he asked.
“'Because I love you,' I told him, and what do you think he said?”
“My thinker got overheated and blew up the other day, and is undergoing repairs,” I answered. “So you'll have to tell me.”
“I shall remember it so long as I live,” she went on, with tears in her eyes, “for he said, 'I've found a daughter, and it's the best thing that's happened to me since I found a wife.'”