She was sitting reading her morning chapter when her father came
in, and taking a seat by her side, lifted her to his knee, saying,
as he caressed her tenderly, "My little daughter is looking pretty
well this morning; how does she feel?"
"Quite well, thank you, papa," she replied, looking up into his
face with a sweet, loving smile.
He raised the curls to look at the wounded temple; then, as he
dropped them again, he said, with a shudder, "Elsie, do you know
that you were very near being killed last night?"
"No, papa, was I?" she asked with an awe-struck countenance.
"Yes, the doctor says if that wound had been made half an inch
nearer your eye--I should have been childless."
His voice trembled almost too much for utterance as he finished
his sentence, and he strained her to his heart with a deep sigh of
thankfulness for her escape.
Elsie was very quiet for some moments, and the little face was
almost sad in its deep thoughtfulness.
"What are you thinking of, darling?" he asked.
She raised her eyes to his face and he saw that they were brimful
of tears.
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