"No, sir, it is just as bad a one as the other. Papa, I wish I was grown up enough to read another hour before going to bed."
"I don't," he said, drawing her to a seat upon his knee, and passing his arm about her waist, "I'm not ready to part with my little girl 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?"
"Yes, if she wishes to hear it. Now away with you to your room and your bed."
Only waiting to bid her mamma an affectionate good-night, Elsie obeyed, leaving the room with a light step, and a cheerful, happy face.
"Dear unselfish child!" her father said, looking after her.
"She is that indeed," said Rose. "How happy, shall I be if Horace grows up to be as good and lovable."
Elsie was a fearless horsewoman, accustomed to the saddle from her very early years. Thus Arthur's wanton attack upon her pony had failed to give her nerves the severe shock it might have caused to those of most young girls of her age. Her feeling was more of excitement, and of indignation at the uncalled-for cruelty to a dumb animal, especially her own pet horse, than of fright at the danger to herself. But she well knew that the latter was what her father would think of first, and that he would be very angry with Arthur; therefore she had tried, and successfully, to control herself and suppress all signs of agitation on meeting him upon her return.