“Dear papa,” she said, putting her arm about his neck, “that is such a sweet blessing! doubly sweet because my father asks it of God for me. And may he give it to you, too, dear papa.”
She was so tired that she fell asleep again with the last word—“papa”—still trembling on her lips.
Mr. Dinsmore’s first act on leaving his room the next morning was to steal softly to Elsie’s bedside and bend over her.
She was still sleeping, the sound, refreshing sleep of healthful childhood; the rose had returned to her cheek, the slightly parted lips were ruby-red. Evidently she was none the worse for the last night’s fatigue, and he turned away with a sigh of relief.
Two hours longer she slept, then awoke to find her father standing close at her side. The full red lips parted in the sweetest of smiles, and the soft dark eyes lifted to his were luminous with love and joy called forth by the fond affection they read in his.
“Good-morning, papa!” she said in her sweet, silvery tones. “It is morning, isn’t it? though the light is so faint.”
“Yes; I had the room partially darkened that my tired little girl might sleep off her fatigue.”
“Thank you, sir! my dear, kind father! May I get up now?”
“Yes; or will you take your breakfast in bed?”
“I’d rather get up and be dressed first, if you please, papa.”