“No, papa,” she said, raising her eyes to his face with a grateful, loving look; “it seemed very long, but I knew you would come as soon as you could, for I know you never break your word.”

Her confidence pleased him very much, and with a very gratified look he asked whether he should sit by her side or take her again upon his knee.

“Take me on your knee again, if you please, papa,” she said, “and then will you read a little to me?  I would like it so much.”

“I will do anything that will give my little girl pleasure,” he replied, as he once more lifted her gently, and placed her in the desired position.

“What shall the book be?” he asked; “one of the new ones I bought you the other day?”

“Not that, to-night; if you please, papa; I would rather hear a little from an old book,” she answered, with a sweet smile lighting tip her little pale face; “won’t you please read me the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah?”

“If you wish it, dearest; but I think something lively would be much better; more likely to cheer you up.”

“No, dear papa; there is nothing cheers me up like the Bible, it is so sweet and comforting.  I do so love to hear of Jesus, how he bore our griefs and carried our sorrows.”

“You are a strange child,” he said, “but you shall have whatever you want to-night.  Hand me that Bible, Aunt Chloe, and set the light a little nearer.”

Mr. Dinsmore was an uncommonly fine reader, and Elsie lay listening to that beautiful passage of Holy Writ, as one might listen to strains of the softest, sweetest music.

“Now, dear papa, the twenty-third of Luke, if you please,” she said, when he had finished.

He turned to it, and read it without any remark.

As he closed the book and laid it aside, he saw that tears were trembling on the long, silken lashes that rested on the fair young cheek; for her eyes were closed, and but for those tell-tale drops he would have thought her sleeping.

“I feared it would make you sad, darling,” he said, brushing them away, and kissing her fondly.

“No, dear papa, oh, no!” she answered, earnestly; “thank you very much for reading it; it has made me feel a great deal better.”

“Why did you select those particular passages?” he asked, with some curiosity.

“Because, papa, they are all about Jesus, and tell how meekly and patiently he bore sorrow and suffering.  Oh, papa, if I could only be like him!  I am not much like him, but it makes it easier to forgive and to be patient, and kind, and gentle, when we read about him, how good he was, and how he forgave his murderers.”

“You are thinking of Arthur,” he said. “I shall find it very hard to forgive him; can you do so?”

“Yes, papa, I think I can.  I have been praying for him, and have asked God to help me to forgive and love him.”

“He has treated you very badly; I know all about it now.”