"My poor little pet," he said, pityingly, "you will have a sad New Year's
Day, fastened down to your couch; but you shall have as much of my
company as you wish."

"Shall I, papa?--then you will have to stay by me all day long."

"And so I will, dearest," he said, leaning fondly over her, and stroking
back the hair from her forehead. "Are you in much pain now, darling?" he
asked, as he noticed a slight contraction of her brow, and an almost
deadly pallor around her mouth.

"Yes, papa, a good deal," she answered faintly; "and I feel so weak.
Please take me in your arms, papa, I want to lay my head against you."

He raised her up gently, sat down on the end of the couch where her head
had been, lifted her to his knee, and made Chloe place a pillow for the
wounded limb to rest upon.

"There, darling, is that better?" he asked, soothingly, as she laid her
head wearily down on his breast, and he folded his arms about her.

"Yes, papa; but, oh, it aches very much," she sighed.

"My poor little daughter! my poor little pet!" he said, in a deeply
compassionate tone, "it is so hard to see you suffer; I would gladly take
your pain and bear it for you if I could."

"Oh, no, dear papa, I would much rather bear it myself," she answered
quickly.