“I think she has not many days to live, daughter,” he answered with a sigh, thinking how doubly forlorn her children would be without her.
“Then I’m very, very sorry for ‘Mandy’ and the others; it’s so hard for children to have their mother die!”
“And you know all about it by sad experience, my dear little daughter,” he responded, bending a tenderly compassionate look upon her as she lifted her eyes to his.
“Yes, papa; and so do Max and Gracie.”
“Do you remember your mother?” he asked.
“Not just exactly how she looked, papa; but oh, I’ve never forgotten how nice it was to have her to love, and to love us. Papa, I don’t believe she had a temper like mine, had she?”
“No, daughter; she was very amiable, very sweet and lovely in disposition. As I have already told you several times, you inherit your temper from me.”
“Papa, I’d never know you had a bit of a temper. Oh, do you think I can ever get to be like you in controlling mine?”
“Certainly, dear child. Can you think I would be so cruel as to punish you for its indulgence if I did not think you could control it?”
“No, papa; I know you’d never be cruel to me or any body.”