d to keep you
with me."

The next day, and the next, and for many succeeding ones, Mr. Dinsmore
was quite too ill to leave his bed, and during all this time Elsie was
his constant companion by day--except for an hour every afternoon, when
he compelled her to go out and take some exercise in the open air--and
she would have sat by his side at night, also, but he would by no means
permit it.

"No, Elsie," he replied to her repeated entreaties, "you must go to bed
every night at your usual hour, and stay there until your accustomed hour
for rising. I will not have you deprived of your rest unless I am
actually dying."

This was said in the determined tone that always silenced Elsie at once,
and she submitted to his decision without another word, feeling very
thankful that he kept her so constantly at his side through the day.
She proved herself the best and most attentive of nurses, seeming to
understand his wishes intuitively, and moving about so gently and
quietly--never hurried, never impatient, never weary of attending to
his wants. His eyes followed with fond delight her little figure as
it flitted noiselessly about the room, now here, now there, arranging
everything for his comfort; and often, as she returned to her station
at his side, he would draw her down to him, and stroke her hair, or pat
her cheek, or kiss the rosy lips, calling her by every fond, endearing
name--rose-bud--his pet--his bird--his darling.

It was she who bathed his head with her cool, soft hands, in his
paroxysms of fever, smoothed his hair, shook up his pillows, gave him his
medicines, fanned him, and read or sang to him, in her clear sweet tones.

He was scarcely considered in danger, but his sickness was tedious, and
would have seemed far more so without the companionship of his little
daughter. Every day seemed to draw the ties of affection more closely
between them; yet, fond as he was of her, he ever made her feel that his
will was always to be law to her; and while he required nothing contrary
to her conscience, she submitted without a murmur, both because she loved
him so well that it was a pleasure to obey him, and also because she knew
it was her duty to do so.

But, alas! duty was not always to be so easy and pleasant.

It was Sabbath morning. All the family had gone to church, excepting
Elsie, who, as usual, sat by her papa's bedside. She had her Bible in
her hand, and was reading aloud.

"There, Elsie, that will do now,"