I have sometimes thought my friend too hard with his tender-hearted, sensitive little daughter." "Don't blame him--my dear, dear father!" she said, low and tremulously, her face growing grave and almost sad for the moment.

"He was very strict, it is true, but none too strict in the matter of requiring prompt and implicit obedience, and oh, so kind, so loving, so tender, so sympathizing.

I could, and did go to him with every little childish joy and sorrow, every trouble, vexation, and perplexity; always sure of sympathy, and help, too, if needed.

Never once did he repulse me, or show himself an uninterested listener.
"He would take me on his knee, hear all I had to say, clasp me close to his heart, caress me, call me pet names, joy, sorrow with, or counsel me as the case required, and bid me always come freely to him so, assuring me that nothing which concerned me, one way or another, was too trivial to interest him, and he would be glad to know I had not a thought or feeling concealed from him.

I doubt if even you, my friend, have ever known all that papa has been and is to me: father, mother, everything--but husband," she added with a blush and smile, as her eyes met the kindly, tender look in his.
"Ah, that is my blessed privilege," he whispered, drawing her closer to him.