haven't enough yet. But I preached quite enough to you yesterday, and I
won't go on the same way to-day again. Only I wanted to comfort you. Come
and give me my breakfast."

"You do comfort me, papa," she answered, approaching the table. "I know I
don't show what I feel as I ought, but you do comfort me much. Don't you
like a day like this, papa?"

"I do, my dear. I always did. And I think you take after me in that, as you
do in a good many things besides. That is how I understand you so well."

"Do I really take after you, papa? Are you sure that you understand me so
well?" she asked, brightening up.

"I know I do," I returned, replying to her last question.

"Better than I do myself?" she asked with an arch smile.

"Considerably, if I mistake not," I answered.

"How delightful! To think that I am understood even when I don't understand
myself!"

"But even if I am wrong, you are yet understood. The blessedness of life is
that we can hide nothing from God. If we could hide anything from God, that
hidden thing would by and by turn into a terrible disease. It is the sight
of God that keeps and makes things clean. But as we are both, by mutual
confession, fond of this kind of weather, what do you say to going out with
me? I have to visit a sick woman."