y wrapper, papa," she said, turning toward him a bright, sweet
face, as he entered; "I found my black dress oppressive this warm
morning."

"Yes," he said; "it is a most unwholesome dress, I think; and for that
reason and several others I should be extremely glad if you would give
it up entirely."

"Would you, my dear father?" she returned, tears springing to her eyes.

"I should indeed, if it would not involve too great a sacrifice of
feeling on your part. I have always thought white the most suitable and
becoming dress for you in the summer season, and so did your husband."

"Yes, papa, I remember that he did; but--I--I should be very loath to
give the least occasion for any one to say or think he was forgotten by
her he loved so dearly, or that she had ceased to mourn his loss."

"Loss, daughter dear?" he said, taking her in his arms to wipe away the
tears that were freely coursing down her cheeks, and caress her with
exceeding tenderness.

"No, papa, not lost, but only gone before," she answered, a lovely
smile suddenly irradiating her features; "nor does he seem far away. I
often feel that he is very near me still, though I can neither see nor
speak to him nor hear his loved voice," she went on, in a dreamy tone, a
far-away look in the soft brown eyes as she stood, with her head on her
father's shoulder, his arm encircling her waist.

Both were silent for some moments; then Elsie, lifting her eyes to her
father's face, asked, "Were you serious in what you said about my laying
aside mourning, papa?"

"Never more so," he answered. "It is a gloomy, unwholesome dress, and I
have grown very weary of seeing you wear it. It would be very gratifying
to me to see you exchange it for more cheerful attire."

"But black is considered the most suitable dress for old and elderly
ladies, papa; and I am a grandmother, you know."

"What of that?" he said, a trifle impatiently; "you do not look old, and
are, in fact, just in the prime of life. And it is not like you to be
concerned about what people may think or say. Usually your only inquiry
is, 'Is it right?' 'Is it what I ought to do?'"

"I fear that is a deserved reproof, papa," she said, with unaffected
humility; "and I shall be governed by your wishes in this matter, for
they have been law to me almost all my life (a law I have loved to
obey, dear father), and I know that if my husband were here he would
approve of my decision."

She could not entirely suppress a