"Yes; I know you. How are you, Squire? But this child, who is she?"

"Your own flesh an' blood, Mars Robert, born'd after you went away an'
left Miss July."

Colonel Marsden sank back on the pillow with a groan and covered his eyes
with his hands.

"O, Uncle Squire!" cried Roberta, "you have hurt his feelings. But she
isn't mad at you, Papa, not a bit. She told me to tell you, that for ten
long years the string has been on the outside of the latch for you. She
did indeed, Papa."

"She is an angel," said Colonel Marsden. There was moisture in his fine
eyes.

"That's what Mam' Sarah says. She says she is afraid every morning that
she will find mamma's wings sprouting."

"But why was I not written to? Why was I not told I had a child?" Again a
groan escaped him. "My God!" he cried, "I forgot I had no right to
expect that. Like a self-willed child I wantonly threw away life's
choicest blessings, was unmindful of its most sacred obligations."

His lips moved for an instant in silent prayer, and then he stretched out
his arms yearningly toward the child and asked almost humbly:

"Will my little daughter give me a kiss?"