CHAPTER I.

“Oh Truth,
Thou art, whilst tenant in a noble breast,
A crown of crystal in an iv’ry chest.”

Elsie felt in better spirits in the morning; her sleep had refreshed her, and she arose with a stronger confidence in the love of both her earthly and her heavenly Father.

She found her papa ready, and waiting for her.  He took her in his arms and kissed her tenderly.  “My precious little daughter,” he said, “papa is very glad to see you looking so bright and cheerful this morning.  I think something was wrong with my little girl last night.  Why did she not come to papa with her trouble?”

“Why did you think I was in trouble, papa?” she asked, hiding her face on his breast.

“How could I think otherwise, when my little girl did not come to bid me good night, though she had not seen me since dinner; and when I went to give her a good-night kiss I found her pillow wet, and a tear on her cheek?”

“Did you come, papa?” she asked, looking up in glad surprise.

“I did.  Now tell me what troubled you, my own one?”

“I am afraid you will be angry with me, papa,” she said, almost under her breath.

“Not half so angry as if you refuse to give me your confidence.  I would be glad to know that my little daughter had not a single thought or feeling concealed from me.”

He paused a moment, looking down at the little blushing face, half hidden on his breast, then went on: 

“Elsie, daughter, you are more precious to me than aught else in the wide world, and you need not fear that any other can ever take your place in my heart, or that I will make any connection that would render you unhappy.  I want no one to love but my little girl; and you must not let the gossip of the servants disturb you.”

Elsie looked up in unfeigned astonishment.

“Papa! you seem to know everything about me.  Can you read my thoughts?”

“Almost, when I can see your face,” he answered, smiling at her puzzled look.  “I cannot quite, though; but I can put things together and make a pretty good guess, sometimes.”

She lay still on his breast for a moment; then, raising her eyes timidly to his face again, she said in a half-hesitating way, “I am afraid it is very naughty in me, papa, but I can’t help thinking that Miss Stevens is very disagreeable.  I felt so that very first day, and I did not want to take a present from her, because it didn’t seem exactly right when I didn’t like her, but I couldn’t refuse—­she wouldn’t let me—­and I have tried to like her since, but I can’t.”

“Well, darling, I don’t think I am just the proper person to reprove you for that,” he replied, trying to look grave, “for I am afraid I am as naughty as you are.  But we won’t talk any more about her.  See what I have for you this morning.”

He pointed to the table, where lay a pile of prettily bound books, which Elsie had not noticed until this moment.  They were Abbot’s works.  Elsie had read several of his historical tales, and liked them very much; and her father could hardly have given a more acceptable present.