When Elsie laid her head upon her pillow that night she acknowledged to herself, that in spite of her father's absence—and she had, at times, missed him sadly—the day had been a very short and pleasant one to her, owing to her Aunt Adelaide's thoughtful kindness in taking her out into new scenes, and giving agreeable occupation to her thoughts.
She rose at her usual early hour the next morning, and though feeling lonely, comforted herself with the hope of receiving the promised letter; and her face was full of eager expectation, as her grandfather, in his usual leisurely manner, opened the bag and distributed its contents.
"Two letters for Elsie!" he said, in a tone of surprise, just as she was beginning to despair of her turn coming at all. "Ah; one is from Horace, I see; and the other from Miss Allison, no doubt."
Elsie could hardly restrain her eagerness while he held them in his hand, examining and commenting upon the address, postmark, etc.
But at length he tossed them to her, remarking, "There! if you are done your breakfast, you had better run away and read them."
"Oh! thank you, grandpa," she said, gladly availing herself of his permission.
"Elsie is fortunate to-day," observed Lora looking after her. "I wonder which she will read first."
"Her father's, of course," replied Adelaide. "He is more to her than all the rest of the world put together."
"A matter of small concern to the rest of the world, I opine," remarked
Mrs. Dinsmore, dryly.
"Perhaps so, mamma," said Adelaide, quietly; "yet I think there are some who prize Elsie's affection."