“Why! what ails my darling?” he asked tenderly.

Adelaide had left the room a moment before, and there was no one near enough to hear.

“Please, papa, don’t be very angry with me,” she pleaded, speaking very low and hesitatingly.  “I did not know you cared about my curls; I did not think about their belonging to you, and I did give one to Carry.”

He was silent a moment, evidently surprised at her confession; then he said gently, “No, dearest, I will not be angry this time, and I feel sure you will not do so again, now you know that I do care.”

“No, indeed, I will not, dear papa,” she replied in a tone of intense relief.  “But you are not going to punish me?” she asked, beginning to tremble again.  “I was so afraid to tell you, lest you would say I should not have my ride this afternoon.”

“Why, then, did you not put off your confession until after the ride?” he asked, looking searchingly into her face.

“I wanted to very much, papa,” she said, looking down and blushing deeply, “but I knew it would be very wrong.”

“My dear, conscientious little daughter,” he said, taking her on his knee, “your father loves you better than ever for this new proof of your honesty and truthfulness.  Deprive you of your ride? no, indeed, I feel far more like rewarding than punishing you.  Ah!  I had forgotten!  I have something for you;” and he put his hand into his pocket and brought out a letter.

“Oh! it is from Miss Rose! dear, darling Miss Rose!” was Elsie’s joyful exclamation, as he put it in her hand.

She made a movement as if to get down from his knee, but he detained her.

“Sit still and read it here, darling,” he said, “I love to have you on my knee, and if there are any hard places I can help you.”

“Thank you, papa; sometimes there are hard places—­at least pretty hard for a little girl like me—­though I think Miss Rose tries to write plainly because she knows that I cannot read writing as well as big people can.”

She was eagerly tearing off the envelope while she answered him, and then settling herself comfortably she began to read.

He watched with deep interest the varying expression of her fine open countenance as she read.  Once or twice she asked him to tell her a word, but the most of it she got through without any difficulty.

At last she had finished.

“It is such a nice letter, papa,” she said as she folded it up, “and so good of Miss Rose to write to me again so soon.”

“Are you not going to let me enjoy it, too?” he asked.

She put it into his hand instantly, saying, with a blush, “I did not know you would care to read it, papa.”

“I am interested in all that gives either pleasure or pain to my little girl,” he answered gently.  “I wish to be a sharer in all her joys and sorrows.”

Elsie watched him while he read, almost as intently as he had watched her; for she was anxious that he should be pleased with Miss Rose’s letter.