No one declined, and they were a pleasant, lively party, each having something interesting to tell of the experiences of the day, and all agreeing that the Fair was well worth the trouble and expense of the journey to reach it, and the hundred and one demands upon the purse while there.  Grace alone was very quiet, seeming to have little or nothing to say, and looking at times both sad and distressed.  Her father noticed it and seizing the first opportunity to speak with her in private, asked in tenderly solicitous tones if she were feeling perfectly well, adding:  “I fear I have allowed you to exert yourself too much in the past few days, my darling.”

“I don’t know whether or not I have gone about too much, papa, but it was very kind in you to let me,” she replied, laying her head on his shoulder, for they were sitting side by side on a sofa in the cabin, while the others had all gone up to the deck, “but oh, I can’t forget those poor men who perished in the flames yesterday, or their wives and children, perhaps left very poor and helpless.  Papa, if you are willing, I’d like to give all my pocket money to help them.  My own dear father pays my way all the time and I don’t need to buy any of the fine things I see for sale here and there.”

“My dear child,” he said, with emotion, “you may do just as you please about that.  I am very glad that my little girl is so willing to deny herself to help others, and I must tell you for your comfort that a good deal of money has already been raised for the benefit of those sadly bereaved ones.”

“You gave some, papa?  Oh, I know you did!”

“Yes, daughter, I gave out of the abundance of means which God has put into my hands, certainly not that it may all be spent upon myself and dearest ones, but entrusted to me that some of it may be used for the relief of suffering humanity; and it is a very great pleasure—­an inestimable privilege—­to be permitted thus to ally to some extent the woes of poverty and bereavement.”

“Yes, papa; I feel it so, and am thankful that you approve of my doing what I can to help those poor, bereaved ones.”

“I am very glad my little girl is unselfish enough to desire to do so,” he responded.  He passed a hand tenderly over her golden curls as he spoke, and kissed her again and again with warmth of affection.

“Do you want to join the others on the deck?” he asked presently, “or would you rather go at once to your bed and rest?  You are looking very weary.”

“I am tired, papa,” she replied, “but I think that to lie in one of the steamer chairs on deck, and listen to the talk, will rest me nicely.”

“You may do so for an hour or two,” he said.  “I will help you up there; but when the others scatter—­as they probably will by that time—­I want you to go to your bed and try to get a good, long night’s sleep.  I must take good care of my feeble, delicate little girl that she may gain, and not lose, by this trip to the North and visit to the World’s Fair.”