A young mulatto girl followed them into the drawing-room, where a bright
wood-fire was blazing on the hearth, asking if she should take Miss
Elsie's things.

"Yes," Mr. Dinsmore said, removing his daughter's hat and shawl, and
handing them to her.

She left the room; and taking Elsie in his arms, and gently laying her
head upon his breast, "Let the tears have their way, darling," he said,
"it will do you good."

For several minutes the tears came in floods. "Oh, papa," she sobbed, "to
think that my people, my poor people, should be so served. It must never,
never be again!"

"No," he said, "we will find means to prevent it. There, you feel better
now, do you not?"

"Yes, sir. Papa dear, welcome, welcome to my house; the dearest guest
that could come to it." And wiping away her tears, she lifted her loving
eyes to his, a tender smile playing about the sweet lips.

"Save one," he answered half-playfully, passing his hand caressingly over
her hair, and bending down to press his lips on brow, and cheeks, and
mouth. "Is not that so?"

"No, my own dear father, save none," with a charming blush, but eyes
looking steadily into his; "when he comes, it shall be as master, not
guest. But now tell me, please, what can I do with this Spriggs? I should
like to pay him a month's wages in advance, and start him off early