"Yes, father."
"Wouldn't you rather go and see your grandmamma yourself?"
"With whom?" the child falters anxiously, her little heart beating a frantic tattoo as she awaits his answer.
"With me, Doretta."
"With YOU, daddy?" she exclaims, hardly daring to believe her ears.
"Yes, with me; with your daddy."
"Oh, daddy, DADDY!" she cries, her little arms about his neck, her kisses covering his face. "Oh, daddy, my own dear daddy! When shall we start?"
"To-morrow morning, if you're not afraid of the snow."
"Why not now? Why not at once?"
"Gently—gently. Good Lord, doesn't the child want her dinner first?"