“I don’t know,” said the other; “I presume he will.  But where can he have gone to-day?”

“He acted very queerly,” said the girl; and then suddenly a delighted smile lit up her face.  “Oh, Daddy,” she added, “do you know, I think Arthur is in love!”

“In love!” gasped Mr. Davis.

“Yes, in love!”

“Pray, with whom?”

“I’m sure I can’t imagine,” said Helen gravely; “but he seemed so abstracted, and he seemed to have something to tell me.  And then he ran away!”

“That is very strange indeed,” remarked the other.  “I shall have to speak to him about it.”

“If he doesn’t come back soon, I’ll go to look for him,” said the girl; “I’m not going to let the water nixies run off with my Arthur; there are such things in that stream, because the song I was singing about it says so.”  And then she chanted as merrily as ever: 

  “Why speak I of a murmur? 
    No murmur can it be;
  The Nixies they are singing
    ’Neath the wave their melody!”

“I will tell you what,” said Mr. Davis, rising from his chair as he realized that the sermon had entirely vanished for the present.  “You may go part of the way with me, and we’ll stop in to see the Vails.”

“The Vails!” gasped Helen. (Mr. Vail was the village dairyman, whose farm lay on the outskirts of the town; the village dairyman’s family was not one that Helen cared to visit.)

“My love,” said Mr. Davis, “poor Mrs. Vail has been very ill, and she has three little children, you know.  You told me that you liked to bring joy wherever you could.”

“Yes, but, Daddy,” protested Helen, “those children are dirty! Ugh!  I saw them as I came by.”

“My love,” answered the other, “they are God’s children none the less; and we cannot always help such things.”

“But we can, Daddy; there is plenty of water in the world.”

“Yes, of course; but when the mother is ill, and the father in trouble!  For poor Mr. Vail has had no end of misfortune; he has no resource but the little dairy, and three of his cows have been ill this spring.”

And Helen’s incorrigible mirth lighted up her face again.  “Oh!” she cried.  “Is that it!  I saw him struggling away at the pump as I came by; but I had no idea it was anything so serious!”

Mr. Davis looked grieved; Helen, when her first burst of glee had passed, noticed it and changed her mood.  She put her arms around her father’s neck and pressed her cheek against his.

“Daddy, dear,” she said coaxingly, “haven’t I done charity enough for one day?  You will surfeit me at the start, and then I’ll be just as little fond of it as I was before.  When I must let dirty children climb all over me, I can dress for the occasion.”

“My dear,” pleaded Mr. Davis, “Godliness is placed before Cleanliness.”

“Yes,” admitted Helen, “and of course it is right for you to inculcate the greater virtue; but I’m only a girl, and you mustn’t expect sublimity from me.  You don’t want to turn me into a president of sewing societies, like that dreadful Mrs. Dale!”