"I will put you in your bed now, and leave you for to-night," he said. "I must go back to my little suffering baby and her almost heart-broken mother."
He led her to the bed, and lifted her into it as he spoke.
"Papa, can't I have a piece of bread?" she asked humbly. "I'm so hungry!"
"Hungry!" he exclaimed in surprise. "Had you no supper?"
"No, sir, nor dinner either. I haven't had a bite to eat since breakfast."
"Strange!" he said; "but I suppose you were forgotten in the excitement and anxiety every one in the house has felt ever since the baby's sad fall. And they may have felt it unnecessary to bring any thing to you, as you were quite able to go to the dining-room for it."
"I couldn't bear to, papa," she said, with tears of shame and grief; "and, indeed, I wasn't hungry till a little while ago; but now I feel faint and sick for something to eat."
"You shall have it," he replied, and went hastily from the room, to return in a few minutes, bringing a bowl of milk and a plentiful supply of bread and butter.
He set them on the table, and bade her come and eat.
"Papa, you are very kind to me, ever so much kinder than I deserve," she said tremulously, as she made haste to obey the order. "I think some fathers would say I must go hungry for to-night."