lly adjusted his stock. Then he turned to her and
placed his hand caressingly upon her brown hair.

"Ah, little Julia! Little Julia!"

That was all for several moments. He sat and looked at her for some
time, and the love in his soul beatified his countenance.

"I'm not sick," he said, after a while. "That is, no doctor on earth
could help me. It's just the letting go, sweet daughter. I'm old, you
must remember, and I can't endure things nor fight as I once could. It
has come in the last few days--I have seemed to crumble--to wither, and
it has weighed me down horribly. I should have risen above it. I do not
care about myself; my life is lived, but you, dear child--it is the
thought of your future which fills me with alarm and well-nigh breaks my
heart. I have no inheritance for you--I have nothing to leave you but
poverty and danger. Don't you understand?"

His voice was gravely tender as he spoke to her thus, and it made her
heart ache, and the burning tears come to her lids.

"Oh, daddy!" she cried; "you must be mistaken! You will--you _must_ stay
with me many years yet, for I could not get along without you. Tell me
you will try--you know the mind has so much to do with the body. Brace
up, daddy, for your Julia! You say you have no sickness; then try and
let your spirit be bright--for me! Won't you?"

She arose, glided into his lap, curled one arm around his neck and
kissed him on the forehead.

"For such a daughter one should try very hard for life," he replied, and
the twinkle she had not seen for several days shone in his eyes. "I'm
stricken, lassie, but I'll promise you this: I'll make the best fight of
my life now, in its last days, and that shall be to stay with my
precious little girl as long as I can. Does that satisfy you, young
miss?"

The Major's last words were almost gay, and Julia's heart bounded with
joy as she heard him speak in his old, brave way. It must be her
constant duty to buoy him up and cheer him on. She smiled into his eyes
happily, and asked him what book she should bring him. He mentioned a
certain volume relating to archaeological research, which she at once
procured, and seeing Peter coming up the drive she gave her father
another caress and went out, almost tripping, for so quickly do we
respond to conditions of joy or sadness. Peter bore nothing but the town
paper, which he delivered with an obsequious bow, and immediately sought
his hoe again. The lawn, next to The Prince, w