But having spent a half hour or more over the morning’s allotted portion, and finding she knew no more about it now than on opening the book, she grew discouraged and sought him in his private room, where he was busy at his writing-desk.
“Well, daughter?” he said inquiringly as he perceived her standing, book in hand, close at his side.
“O papa, this is such a dreadfully long, hard lesson! I can’t learn it!”
“Can’t! ah, that’s a lazy word!” he said pleasantly, laying down his pen to put his hand caressingly on her drooping head. “Surely my brave little girl is not going to allow herself to be conquered by difficulties!”
“Papa, you don’t know how difficult it is for a little child like me,” she sighed. “Why must I learn Latin?”
“Because your father bids you,” he answered in a grave, slightly reproving tone. “Is not that a sufficient reason for a good, obedient child?”
“Yes, sir, but—”
“Well?”
“I was just going to say the lazy word again, papa,” she said, furtively brushing away a tear.
He pushed back his chair and drew her to his knee. “What is wrong with you to-day?” he asked, smoothing the hair back from her temples with gentle, caressing hand.