"No, papa; not very, though I missed you and Miss Rose."

He was gazing down into her face; something in its expression seemed
to strike him, and he suddenly turned her towards the light, and
looking keenly at her, said, "You have been crying; what was the
matter?"

Elsie's face flushed crimson, and the tears started to her eyes again.
"Dear papa, don't be angry with me," she pleaded. "I couldn't help it;
indeed I could not."

"I am not angry, darling; only pained that my little girl is not
so happy as I expected. I hoped that your joy would be unclouded
to-night, as mine has been; but will you not tell your father what
troubles you, dearest?"

"I was looking at this, papa," she said, drawing her mother's
miniature from her bosom, and putting it into his hand; "and mammy was
telling me all about my own mamma again; and, papa, you know I love
Miss Rose, and I am very glad she is coming to us, but it seems as
if--as if--" She burst into a flood of tears, and hiding her face on
his breast, sobbed out, "Oh, papa, I can't help feeling as though
mamma--my own dear mamma--is farther away from us now; as if she is
going to be forgotten."

There were tears in his eyes, too; but gently raising her head, he
pushed back the curls from her forehead, and kissing her tenderly,
said, in low, soothing tones, "No, darling; it is only a feeling, and
will soon pass away. Your own dear mother--my early love--can never be
forgotten by either of us. Nor would Rose wish it. There is room in