“I have a book which I would like you to take to Miss Evans for me to-day,” he said, addressing Miss Vernon.
“The lady who called here soon after I came?”
“The same.”
“I like her much, and should be pleased to see her again.”
“I am glad you do. She is my ideal of a true woman, and one whom every young, earnest soul ought to know. You will go to-day?”
“Certainly; I am anxious to see her in her own home.”
“She is queen of her domain, and entertains her friends in a most lady-like manner; but I must bid you both good-bye, and be off. Be happy, Miss Vernon, Florence, and let me find you full of good things to tell of yourself and Dawn, on my return. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, papa,” rang out on the sweet summer air till he was out of sight, then the child's lid trembled, the lips quivered, and she laid her head on the bosom of her friend and teacher, and gave vent to the grief which ever wrung her at parting with her kind parent.
“I am glad you did not let your father see those tears. You are getting quite brave, Dawn.”
“I feel so bad when he goes. Shall I ever be strong like you, and look calm after these partings? Perhaps you don't love papa; but every body does that knows him-you do, don't you?”