"I love Marion," lisped the child. "She is my Marion."
"Is she your daughter, Mr. Asbury?"
"Not exactly," laughing, "though she is as near as a daughter. She is the daughter of Mrs. Asbury's cousin, now deceased. Indeed she has lost both her parents, and we have adopted her. She calls us uncle and aunt."
"I want Marion to come home quick, pa." Then, turning again to look in the face above her, Ethel said, "I'll let my Marion love you too."
"A great piece of condescension on Ethel's part, Mr. Angus," added the mother, laughing heartily. "The little puss is extremely jealous in her affection for Marion, and scarce allows her cousin out of her sight for a moment when she is at home."
"Does your niece not live at home, then?"
"Oh, no, sir. She teaches music in Madame La Vergnes's Institute in New York; but, as her classes only occupy six hours a day, she has abundant time for her poor people."
"It is against my wish," urged her uncle, "that she should stay away from home for so many months in a year."
"But not contrary to your consent, pa," explained Annie. "You told her you wouldn't forbid it. So, Mr. Angus," she added, blushing at her own earnestness, "you musn't think our Marion naughty or obstinate. It was her duty she said, and so she went."
"Ethel, I fear you will tire Mr. Angus, sitting in his lap so long."