paroxysms of fever, smoothed his hair, shook up his pillows, gave him his
medicines, fanned him, and read or sang to him, in her clear sweet tones.

He was scarcely considered in danger, but his sickness was tedious, and
would have seemed far more so without the companionship of his little
daughter. Every day seemed to draw the ties of affection more closely
between them; yet, fond as he was of her, he ever made her feel that his
will was always to be law to her; and while he required nothing contrary
to her conscience, she submitted without a murmur, both because she loved
him so well that it was a pleasure to obey him, and also because she knew
it was her duty to do so.

But, alas! duty was not always to be so easy and pleasant.

It was Sabbath morning. All the family had gone to church, excepting
Elsie, who, as usual, sat by her papa's bedside. She had her Bible in
her hand, and was reading aloud.

"There, Elsie, that will do now," he said, as she finished her chapter.
"Go and get the book you were reading to me yesterday. I wish to hear the
rest of it this morning."

Poor little Elsie! she rose to her feet, but stood irresolute. Her heart
beat fast, her color came and went by turns, and her eyes filled with
tears.

The book her father bade her read to him was simply a fictitious
moral tale, without a particle of religious truth in it, and, Elsie's
conscience told her, entirely unfit for Sabbath reading.