"You shall be mended up to-morrow, poor father!"

He smiled, pleased like a child to be remembered. She looked up at
him,--at his gray hair and shrivelled face, at his blackened hands and
bent shoulders, and dusty, ill-kept coat. What would it be like, if the
days brought her nothing but him?

"Something's the matter with my little gal? Tell father, can't ye?"

Her face flushed hot, as if she had done him wrong. She crept up into
his arms, and put her hands behind his rough old neck.

"Would you kiss me, father? You don't think I'm too ugly to kiss,
maybe,--you?"

She felt better after that. She had not gone to sleep now for many a
night unkissed; it had seemed hard at first.

When she had gone half-way up stairs, Dick came to the door of his room
on the first floor, and called her. He held the little kerosene lamp
over his head; his face was grave and pale.

"I haven't said good night, Sene."

She made no reply.

"Asenath, good night."

She stayed her steps upon the stairs without turning her head. Her