"How lovely to go up and down the street with Fritz as Ella does, ever so fast down the hill, and ever so slow up. I am not so heavy as Ella, am I, father?"
"No, my poor little daughter, I am afraid not."
"And thou, father, some day, thou wilt take me in my carriage to the hill, and we will gather nuts and bring them home in my carriage; and every one will wonder when they see no one in the window. They will look up and they will say, 'Where is little Violet?' and they will never think that she is gone far, far away, to that hill which is so very far off."
The child's face was radiant; her eyes had turned to that deep purple hue which seemed always to match the shadows of her dress, and her cheeks had crimsoned with the thought of this new and wonderful life which was so soon to be hers.
Poor John put down his wheel and went over to his favourite seat on the broad sill beside her. He had purposely set her to talk on this theme, and now she was breaking his heart with her innocent raptures.
"I am afraid father is a great idler," he said, putting his head down very softly against her shoulder. "I ought to be downstairs in my workshop now, instead of chattering nonsense to thee all day."
"But we were not talking nonsense, were we, father? It is quite true about the carriage, is it not? it is not a fairy tale, father?"
"A fairy tale?"
"Fritz says—;" she paused.
"What does Fritz say?" John asked the question somewhat dreamily. He had been gazing at her earnestly for some minutes, and now he kissed her twice passionately, as if without any apparent reason. "Thou art father's little treasure, his darling, his own sweet little maiden," he said with almost a sob in his throat, "and thou must try and grow strong for father's sake."