Adelaide, at her brother’s request, took the head of the table, and played the part of hostess very gracefully.

“Ah, Dinsmore,” remarked Travilla, a little mischievously, glancing from one to the other, “you have a grand establishment here, but it still lacks its chief ornament.  Miss Adelaide fills the place to-day, most gracefully, it is true; but then we all know she is only borrowed for the occasion.”

Mr. Dinsmore colored a little and looked slightly annoyed.

“Elsie will supply that deficiency in a few years,” he said, “and until then, I think I can depend upon the kindness of my sisters.  Besides, Travilla,” he added laughingly, “you must not forget the old proverb about people who live in glass houses.”

“Ah,” replied Travilla, looking affectionately at his mother, “I have a mistress for my establishment, and so can afford to wait for Elsie.”

The child looked up quickly, with a slight flush on her face.

“You needn’t, Mr. Travilla!” she said, “for I am never going to leave my father; and you know he promised not to give me away, so if you want a little girl you will have to look somewhere else.”

“Ah! well, I will not despair yet,” he replied laughingly, “for I have learned that ladies, both little and large, very often change their minds, and so I shall still live in hopes.”

“You know I like you very much indeed, Mr. Travilla—­next best to papa—­but then I couldn’t leave him for anybody, you see,” Elsie said in a deprecating tone, and looking affectionately up into his face.

“No, my dear, that is quite right, and I don’t feel at all hurt,” he answered with a good-natured smile, which seemed to relieve her very much.

Tea was over, the guests had returned to their homes, and Mr. Dinsmore sat by the fire, as usual, with his little girl upon his knee.

“We have had a very pleasant day, papa, haven’t we?” she remarked.

“Yes, darling, I have enjoyed it, and I hope you have, too.”

“Very much indeed, papa; and I do like all my presents so much.”

“If I should ask you to give me something of yours, would you be willing to do it?” he inquired in a grave tone.

“Why, papa!” she said, looking up quickly into his face, “doesn’t everything I have belong to you?”

“In some sense it does, certainly,” he replied, “and yet I like you to feel that you have some rights of property.  But you did not answer my question.”

“I can’t think what it can be, papa; but I am sure there is nothing of mine that I wouldn’t be very glad to give you, if you wanted it,” she said earnestly.

“Well, then,” said he, “your aunt gave you a new Bible to-day, and as you don’t need two, will you give the old one to me?”