the horses, and found his visitor seated
in the doorway. He stood observing her critically for a few moments. She
made an attractive picture there in the warm sunset light. Before he
could check himself he found himself wishing that her mother could see
her. Ah! If her mother were here too, it would be almost worth while to
begin life over again.

The girl, unconscious of his scrutiny, sat gazing at the view he loved.
As he watched her tranquil happy face he felt reconciled and softened.
Her hands lay palm downward on her lap. They were shapely hands, large
and generous; a good deal tanned and freckled now. There was something
about them which he had not noticed before; and almost involuntarily his
thoughts got themselves spoken.

"Do you know, Elizabeth, your _thumbs_ are like your mother's!"

Elizabeth felt that it was a concession, but she had learned wisdom. She
did not turn her eyes from the range, and she only said quietly, "I am
glad of that, papa."

Emboldened by the consciousness of her own discretion, she ventured,
later in the evening, to broach a subject fraught with risks. Having
armed herself with a piece of embroidery, and placed the lamp between
herself and the object of her diplomacy, she remarked in a casual
manner:

"I suppose, papa, that Uncle Nicholas has told you how rich we are."

"Nick wrote me with his usual consciousness of virtue that his
investments for you had turned out well."

"Our income is twice what it was ten years ago."

"I congratulate you, my dear. I only regret the moral effect upon Nick."

"And I congratulate _you_, papa. Of course it's really yours as long as
you live."

"I think you have been misinformed, my dear. It was your mother's
property, and is now yours."

"Oh, no, papa! You have a life-interest in it. I am surprised that you
did not know that."

"And I am surprised that you should be, or pretend to be, ignorant that
the property stands in your name. I have no more concern in it
than--Miss Hunniman."

"But, papa!"

"We won't discuss the matter, if you please, my dear. We can gain
nothing by discussion."

"I don't want to discuss it, papa," taking a critical survey of her
embroidery; "but if you won't go snacks, I won't. Uncle Nicholas told me
never to say 'go snacks,'" she added, with a side glance around the edge
of the lamp-shade.

His face relaxed so far that she ventured to add: "Uncle Nicholas would
be furious if we were to go snacks."

Stan