“I am glad for Rosie,” she said when the talk turned upon the subject of what was expected to be the great event of the day, “she seems so happy; though how she can be in the prospect of leaving the dear home of her childhood and the mother who loves her so fondly, I cannot understand.  Oh, father!  I do think I can never, never bear to go away from you!  It seems impossible that anyone else can ever be half so dear to me, and I am so glad that you want to keep me your own little girl for years longer.”

“For all our life on earth, daughter, if you are satisfied to have it so,” he returned, bestowing upon her a look and smile of tenderest fatherly affection.  “You are still one of my chief treasures, which I should be very loath to bestow upon anyone else; dearer to me—­as all my children are—­than tongue can tell.”

“Yes, papa,” she said, looking up into his eyes with a joyous smile, “so you have told me many, many times; but I love to hear it just as if you had never said it before.”

“As I do your expressions of ardent love for me, daughter,” he returned.  “Very glad I am that I am not the one who must to-day resign to another the ownership of a daughter.”

“I am sorry for Grandma Elsie,” said Lucilla; “but then I suppose she must feel rather used to it—­having given away two daughters before.”

“And having none left to be a care and trouble, eh?” laughed her father.

“No, sir; having both near enough to be seen and enjoyed every day if she chooses.  Don’t you hope that will be the way with you if you have to give any of yours up to somebody else?”

“I certainly do,” he said.  “I should be very loath to consent to having any one of them carried off to a distance.  But let us not trouble ourselves with anxious thought of what may lie in the future.  Remember the dear Master’s word, ‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.’”

“Yes, papa; and I remember your teaching me that his ‘Take no thought,’ means no anxiety, and that it tends greatly to one’s happiness to live one day at a time, just leaving all the future in his hands.”

“Yes, daughter; just as a little child leaves its future and the supply of its daily wants in the care of its parents.”

“Such kind teaching, and easy to understand when one has such a father as mine,” she said, with a look of grateful love.

“I am thankful, indeed, daughter, if anything in my treatment and teaching helps you to a clearer understanding of how the Master would have you to act and feel,” he said in tones that spoke full appreciation of her filial affection.

“Ah! there is our mail,” he added, as a servant was seen carrying it toward the house; “so we will go in now and see if it contains anything important for you or me.”

“And if there is anything you want answered on the typewriter you will let me do it at once, won’t you, papa?” she asked, as they quickened their footsteps, taking the direction toward the house.