"I know it, darling," he said, "I fully believe that you would prefer any physical suffering to the pain of my displeasure."
"Papa," she said, after a few moments' silence, "I want to tell you something."
"Well, daughter, I am ready to listen," he answered pleasantly; "what is it?"
"I was looking in my desk to-day, papa, for a letter that I wrote to you the evening before I was taken sick, and I couldn't find it. Did Aunt Adelaide give it to you?"
"Yes, dear, I have it, and one of your curls," he said, pressing her closer to him.
"Yes, papa, that was what I wanted to tell you about. I am afraid I was very naughty to cut it off after all you said about it last Christmas; but everything was so strange that night—it seems like a dreadful dream to me now. I don't think I was quite in my right mind sometimes, and I thought I was going to die, and something seemed to tell me that you would want some of my hair when I was gone, and that nobody would save it for you; and so I cut it off myself. You do not mind about it, papa, dear, do you? You don't think it was very naughty in me?" she asked anxiously.
"No, darling, no; it was very right and kind, and much more than I deserved," he answered with emotion.
"I am glad you are not angry, papa," she said in a relieved tone, "and, indeed, I did not mean to be naughty or disobedient."
John was just bringing in the lights, and Mr. Dinsmore took a note from his pocket, saying, "I will read this to you, daughter, as it concerns you as well as myself."
It was an invitation from Mrs. Howard—the mother of Elsie's friend,
Caroline—to Mr. Dinsmore and his little girl, to come and spend the
Christmas holidays with them.