somewhere in his house: that let _me_ be in yours. No, I will be proud,
and assert my rights: I am your daughter. If I am not, why am I here? Do
you not remember telling me that the adoption of God meant a closer
relation than any other fatherhood, even His own first fatherhood, could
signify? You cannot cast me off if you would. Why should you be poor
when I am rich? You _are_ poor: you cannot deny it," she concluded with
a serious playfulness.

"I will not deny my privileges," said the schoolmaster, with a smile
such as might have acknowledged the possession of some exquisite and
envied rarity.

"I believe," insisted Clementina, "you are just as poor as the apostle
Paul when he sat down to make a tent, or as our Lord himself after he
gave up carpentering."

"You are wrong there, my lady. I am not so poor as they must often have
been."

"But I don't know how long I may be away, and you may fall ill,
or--or--see some--some book you want very much, or--"

"I never do," said the schoolmaster.

"What! never see a book you want to have?"

"No, not now. I have my Greek Testament, my Plato and my Shakespeare,
and one or two little books besides whose wisdom I have not yet quite
exhausted."

"I can't bear it!" cried Clementina, almost on the point of weeping.
"You will not let me near you. You put out an arm as long as the
summer's, and push me away from you. _Let_ me be your servant." As she
spoke she rose, and walking softly up to him where he sat, kneeled at
his knees and held out suppliantly a little bag of white silk tied with
crimson. "Take it--father," she said, hesitating, and bringing the word
out with an effort: "take your daughter's offering--a poor thing to show
her love, but something to ease her heart."

He took it, and weighed it up and down in his hand with an amused smile,
but his eyes full of tears. It was heavy. He opened it. A chair was
within his reach: he emptied it on the seat of it, and laughed with
merry delight as its contents came tumbling out. "I never saw so much
gold in my life if it were all taken together," he said. "What beautiful
stuff it is! But I don't want it, my dear. It would but trouble me." And
as he spoke he began to put it in the bag again. "You will want it for
your journey," he said.

"I have plenty in my reticule," she answered. "That is a mere nothing to
what I could have to-morrow morning for writing a cheque. I am afraid I
am very rich. It is such a shame! But I c