"But why, dear?"
"Because girls are so vain," she answered, with a laugh.
"Is my little girl vain?"
"Awfully. Hasn't she the dearest father in the world and the prettiest"—she swallowed hard here—"the prettiest house and the loveliest clothes? Who wouldn't be vain!"
"I am so glad," said the old man, contentedly, "that I have been able to give you the things you want. I could not bear it if we were poor."
"You told me you had made two songs to-day, Father."
Song of the River
He drew closer to her and laid one hand upon the arm of her chair. Quietly, she moved her crutches beyond his reach. "One is about the river," he began.
"In Winter, a cruel fairy put it to sleep in an enchanted tower, far up in the mountains, and walled up the door with crystal. All the while the river was asleep, it was dreaming of the green fields and the soft, fragrant winds.
"It tossed and murmured in its sleep, and at last it woke, too soon, for the cruel fairy's spell could not have lasted much longer. When it found the door barred, it was very sad. Then it grew rebellious and hurled itself against the door, trying to escape, but the barrier only seemed more unyielding. So, making the best of things, the river began to sing about the dream.