Rosie was beginning to pout, but catching the stern look in her father’s eye, quickly gave it up, her face clearing as if by magic.

“Papa,” Elsie asked in a low tone, “do you wish me to take away those costly playthings from my little girl?”

“My dear daughter,” he said, smiling tenderly upon her, “I have neither the right nor the wish to interfere with you and your children; especially when your husband approves of your management.  I only fear you may suffer loss.  How easy a valuable ring may slip through the little fingers and roll away into some crevice where it would never be found.”

“I’m afraid it is rather hazardous,” she acknowledged.  “Mammy, sit close to Elsie and keep a careful watch, lest she should drop something.”

“I begin to think there’s truth in the old saw, ’It’s hard to teach old dogs new tricks,’” remarked Mr. Travilla, with a comically rueful face.  “I’ve a mind to give it up.  What do you say, Dinsmore?”

“That you wouldn’t make a good soldier, if you are so easily conquered, Travilla.”

“Oh, fighting’s another thing, but I’ll persevere as long as you do; unless I find I’m wearying my teacher.”

“Perhaps you would learn faster with a better teacher,” said Elsie, “I’m sure the fault is not in the scholar; because I know he’s bright and talented.”

“Ah! then I shall try harder than ever, to save your reputation; but take a recess now, for here comes my boy, reaching out his arms to papa.  Bring him here Dinah.  Papa’s own boy, he looks beautiful and as bright as the day.”

“Mamma thinks he’s a very handsome mixture of papa and grandpa,” Elsie said, leaning over to caress the babe, now crowing in his father’s arms.

“I’m afraid he inherits too much of his grandpa’s temper,” remarked Mr. Dinsmore, but with a glance of loving pride bestowed upon the beautiful babe.

“I, for one, have no objection, provided he learns to control it as well,” said Mr. Travilla; “he will make the finer character.”

Little Elsie had grown weary of her play.

“Put box way now, mammy,” she said, getting up from her cushion; “wee Elsie don’t want any more.  Mamma take; Elsie so tired.”

The baby voice sounded weak and languid, and tottering to her mother’s side, she almost fell into her lap.

“Oh, my baby! my precious darling, what is it?” cried Elsie, catching her up in her arms.  “Papa!  Edward! she is dying!”

For the face had suddenly lost all its color; the eyes were rolled upward, the tiny fists tightly clenched, and the little limbs had grown stiff and rigid on the mother’s lap.

Mr. Travilla hastily set down the babe, laid turned to look at his little girl, his face full of alarm and distress.

Mr. Dinsmore sprang to his daughter’s side, and meeting her look of agony, said soothingly, “No, dearest, it is a spasm, she will soon be over it.”