home, my darling."

He lifts her in his arms, still in her dainty nightdress, and kisses
the scarlet lips, that laugh now for very gladness.

"Can I stay with you always?"

"Why, yes," in half surprise. "You are the nearest and dearest thing in
all the world." Yes, he is quite sure now that he would rather part
with everything than this baby girl he has known only such a little
while.

Then he stands her on the floor. "Run to Jane and get dressed, and we
will go out on the lawn and see the birds and flowers."

While she is engaged, he gives a brush to his flowing beard and
slightly waving hair that is of a rather light brown, and puts on a
summer coat. A fine-looking man, certainly, with a rather long, oval
face, clearly defined brows, and sharply cut nose and mouth; with a
somewhat imperious expression that gives it character. The eyes are a
deep, soft brown, with curious lights rippling through them like the
tints of an agate. Generally they are tranquil to coldness, so far as
mere emotion is concerned, but many things kindle them into interest,
and occasionally to indignation. Health and a peculiar energy are in
every limb, the energy that sets itself to conquer and is never lost in
mere strife or bustle.

"Papa!"

"Yes, dear."

"You will wait for me?" entreatingly.

He comes to the door with a smile. Jane is brushing the fair, shining
hair that is like a sea of ripples, and Cecil stretches out her hand
with pretty eagerness, as if she shall lose him, after all.

"Suppose I tie it so, and curl it after breakfast," proposes Jane.
"Miss Cecil is so impatient."

"Yes, that will do." It is beautiful, any way, he thinks. Then she
dances around on one foot until her dress is put on, when she gives a
glad bound.

"But your pinafore! American children _do_ wear them," says Jane, in a
rather uncertain tone.

"I am a little English girl," is the firm rejoinder.

"Then of course you must," responds papa.

"And your hat! The sun is shining."

Cecil gives a glad spring then, and almost drags her father down the
wide stairs. A young colored lad is brushing off the porch, but the two
go down on the path that is speckless and as hard as a floor. The lawn
slopes slowly toward the river, broken by a few clumps of shrubbery, a
summer-house covered with vines, and another resembling a pagoda, with
a great copper beech beside it. There are some winding paths, and it
all ends with a stone wall, as the shore is very