“There is no question of your doing such things, Charlotte,” Carroll said again, and Charlotte looked at him quickly.

“Why, papa!” said she, and went up to him and kissed him.  She rubbed her cheek caressingly against his, and his cheek felt wet.  She realized that with a sort of terror.  “Why, papa, I did not mean any harm!” she said.

“I will get a servant for you to-morrow, Charlotte,” he said, brokenly.  “It has not yet come to pass that you have to do such work.”  He spoke brokenly.  He did not trust himself to look at the girl, who was now looking at him intently and seriously.

“Papa, listen to me,” said she.  “Really, there is no scrubbing nor sweeping nor washing nor ironing to be done here for quite a time.  Marie has left the house in very good condition.  There is enough money to pay for the laundry for some time, and as for the cooking, you can see that I shall love to do that.  You know Aunt Catherine used to let me cook, that I always like to.”

Carroll made no reply.

“Papa, you are not well; you are all worn out,” Charlotte said.  “Let us go into the den, and you smoke a cigar and I will read to you.”

Carroll shook his head.  “No, dear, not to-night,” he said.

“We will have a game of cribbage.”

“No, dear, not to-night.  You are tired, and you must go to bed.  Take a book and go to bed and read.  You are tired.”

“I am not very tired,” said Charlotte, but therein she did not speak the entire truth.  Her spirit was leaping with happy buoyancy, but she could scarcely stand on her feet, she was so fatigued with her unaccustomed labor and the excitement of it all.  There was a ringing in her ears, and her eyelids felt stiff; she was also a little hoarse.  “Will you go to bed, too, papa?” said she, anxiously.

“I will go very soon, dear.”

“Won’t you want anything else before you go?”

“No, darling.”

Charlotte stood regarding him with the sweetest expression of protection and worshipful affection, and withal the naivete of a child pleased with herself and what she has done for the beloved one.  “You did have a good supper, didn’t you, papa?” she asked.

“A beautiful supper, sweetheart.”

“You never had a better?”

“Never so good, never half so good,” said Carroll, fervently, smiling down at her eager face.

“You are glad I came back, aren’t you, papa?”

“Glad for my own sake, God knows, dear, but—­”

“There are no buts at all,” Charlotte cried, laughing.  “No buts at all.  If you don’t think I am happier and better off here with you than I would be rattling down to Kentucky on that old railroad, and I am always car-sick on a long journey, you know, papa.”

Charlotte lit a lamp and bade her father good-night.  She kissed him and looked at him anxiously and with a little bewilderment.  He had seated himself, and was smoking with an abstracted air, his eyes fixed on vacancy.