She was sitting reading her morning chapter when her father came in, and taking a seat by her side, lifted her to his knee, saying, as he caressed her tenderly, "My little daughter is looking pretty well this morning; how does she feel?"
"Quite well, thank you, papa," she replied, looking up into his face with a sweet, loving smile.
He raised the curls to look at the wounded temple; then, as he dropped them again, he said, with a shudder, "Elsie, do you know that you were very near being killed last night?"
"No, papa, was I?" she asked with an awe-struck countenance.
"Yes, the doctor says if that wound had been made half an inch nearer your eye—I should have been childless."
His voice trembled almost too much for utterance as he finished his sentence, and he strained her to his heart with a deep sigh of thankfulness for her escape.
Elsie was very quiet for some moments, and the little face was almost sad in its deep thoughtfulness.
"What are you thinking of, darling?" he asked.
She raised her eyes to his face and he saw that they were brimful of tears.
"O papa!" she said, dropping her head on his breast while the bright drops fell like rain down her cheeks, "would you have been so very sorry?"