“Elsie,” he said, “your mother has been telling me of something you heard me say in my study a long time ago, something that you overheard, which you ought not to have overheard, when you were in the turret, and I did not know you were there.”
Elsie grew a little pale at this unexpected address.
“Oh, father,” she said, “you knew we were always there.”
“Indeed, I knew nothing of the kind. I never supposed for a moment that you would remain to listen to what was said.”
“We never did. Oh, never, never!” cried Elsie, now growing as suddenly red.
“It is evident you did on this occasion. You heard me talking to myself, and now you have remembered and reported what I said.”
“Oh, father!” cried Elsie, with a hasty look of remonstrance, “how can you say I did that?”
“What was it, then, you said?”
He noticed that she had no need to pause, to ask herself what it was. She answered at once.
“It was about the parable. They said you had preached a sermon on it, and I said I thought your mind had been very full of it; because, when Rodie and me were in the turret, we heard you.”