"And if I am, Sir, it is not because I am unhappy. It doesn't make me unhappy to think of these things it makes me glad; and the more I think of them the happier I am."
"You are a strange child. I am afraid your grandmother is right, and that you are hurting yourself with poring over serious matters that you are too young for."
"She would not think so if she knew," said Ellen, sighing. "I should not be happy at all without that, and you would not love me half so well, nor she either. Oh, father!" she exclaimed, pressing his hand in both her own, and laying her face upon it, "do not let me be hindered in that! forbid me anything you please, but not that! the better I learn to please my best Friend, the better I shall please you."
"Whom do you mean by 'your best friend?' "
"The Lord, my Redeemer."
"Where did you get these notions?" said Mr. Lindsay, after a short pause.
"From my mother, first, Sir."
"She had none of them when I knew her."
"She had afterwards, then, Sir; and oh!" Ellen hesitated
"I wish everybody had them too!"
"My little daughter," said Mr. Lindsay affectionately kissing the cheeks and eyes which were moist again, "I shall indulge you in this matter. But you must keep your brow clear, or I shall revoke my grant. And you belong to me now; and there are some things I want you to forget, and not remember you understand? Now, don't sing songs to the moon any more to- night. Good night, my daughter."