yet."

"Wouldn't a fine young lady daughter be just as good or better?" she
asked, giving him a hug.

"No, not now, some of these days I may think so."

"But mayn't I stay up and read till ten to-night?"

He shook his head. "Till half-past nine, then?"

"No, not even a till quarter past. Ah, it is that now," he added,
consulting his watch.

"You must say good-night and go. Early hours and plenty of sleep for
my little girl, that she may grow up to healthful, vigorous womanhood,
capable of enjoying life and being very useful in the church and the
world." He kissed her with grave tenderness as he spoke.

"Good-night then, you dear father," she said, returning the caress. "I
know you would indulge me if you thought it for my good."

"Indeed I would, pet. Would it help to reconcile you to the denial
of your wish to know that I shall be reading the book, and probably
enjoying it as much as you would?"

"Ah yes, indeed, papa! it is a real pleasure to resign it to you," she
answered with a look of delight. "It's just the nicest story! at least
as far as I've read. Read it aloud to mamma, won't you?"