Elsie laid her needles away in her work-basket, and opening her writing-desk, selected a bit of note-paper, on which she wrote in her very best hand, "A present for my dear papa, from his little daughter Elsie!" This she carefully pinned to the purse, and then carried it to her papa's room, intending to leave it on his toilet-table.
Fearing that he might possibly have returned, she knocked gently at the door, but receiving no answer, opened it, and went in; but she had not gone more than half way across the room when she heard his voice behind her, asking, in a tone of mingled surprise and displeasure, "What are you doing here in my room, in my absence, Elsie?"
She started, and turned round, pale and trembling, and lifting her eyes pleadingly to his face, silently placed the purse in his hand.
He looked first at it, and then at her.
"I made it for you, dear papa," she said, in a low, tremulous tone; "do please take it."
"It is really very pretty," he said, examining it; "is it possible it is your work? I had no idea you had so much taste and skill. Thank you, daughter; I shall take it, and use it with a great deal of pleasure."
He took her hand as he spoke, and sitting down, lifted her to his knee, saying, "Elsie, my child, why do you always seem so afraid of me? I don't like it."
With a sudden impulse she threw her arms round his neck, and pressed her lips to his cheek; then dropping her head on his breast, she sobbed: "O papa! dear papa, I do love you so very dearly! will you not love me? O papa! love me a little. I know I've been naughty very often, but I will try to be good."
Then for the first time he folded her in his arms and kissed her tenderly, saying, in a moved tone, "I do love you, my darling, my own little daughter."
Oh! the words were sweeter to Elsie's ear than the most delicious music! her joy was too great for words, for anything but tears.