Elsie looked very much mortified.

“Never mind, daughter,” he said kindly, patting her cheek; “you do very well for a little girl; I dare say I made a great many more mistakes at your age, and I don’t expect you to do better than I did.”

“Oh, papa, the letters I sent you when you were away must have been full of blunders, I am afraid,” she said, blushing deeply; “were you not very much ashamed of me?  How could you bear to read them?”

“Ashamed of you, darling?  No, indeed, neither of you nor them.  I loved them all the better for the mistakes, because they showed how entirely your own they were; and I could not but be pleased with them when every line breathed such love to me.  My little daughter’s confidence and affection are worth more to me than the finest gold, or the most priceless jewels.”

He bent down and kissed her fondly as he spoke; then, returning to his seat, bade her finish her letter and bring it to him when done.

He took up his pen, and Elsie collected her thoughts once more, worked busily and silently for another half hour, and then brought her sheet to him for inspection; presenting it with a timid, bashful air, “I am afraid it is very full of mistakes, papa,” she said.

“Never mind, daughter,” he answered, encouragingly; “I know that it takes a great deal of practice to make perfect, and it will be a great pleasure to me to see you improve.”

He looked over it, pointed out the mistakes very kindly and gently, put the capitals in their proper places, corrected the punctuation, and showed her how one or two of her sentences might be improved.

Then, handing it back, he said, “You had better put it in your desk now, and leave the copying until to-morrow, as it will soon be your bedtime, and I want you on my knee until then.”

Elsie’s face grew very bright, and she hastened to do his bidding.

“And may I talk, papa?” she asked, as he pushed away his writing, wheeled his chair about toward the fire, and then took her on his knee.

“Yes,” he said, smiling, “that is exactly what I want you to do.  Tell me what you have been doing all day, and how you are enjoying your holidays; or talk to me of anything that pleases, or that troubles you.  I love to be made the confidant of my little girl’s joys and sorrows; and I want her always to feel that she is sure of papa’s sympathy.”

“I am so glad that I may tell you everything, my own papa,” she answered, putting her arm around his neck, and laying her cheek to his.  “I have enjoyed this day very much, because I have been with you nearly all the time; and then, I had that nice letter from Miss Rose, too.”

“Yes, it was a very pleasant letter,” he said; and then he asked her what she had been doing in those hours when she had not been with him; and she gave him an animated account of the occurrences of that and several of the preceding days, and told of some little accidents that had happened—­amongst them that of the broken doll; and spoke of the sorrow it had caused her; but she did not blame either Flora or Enna, and concluded her narrative by saying that, “good, kind Mrs. Brown had mended it, so that it was almost as good as ever.”