ly from play, and peep into the sitting-room to
see what he was doing. If he seemed busy, she did not interrupt him,
but drew her low chair to his side and sat there quietly, with
Genevieve in her lap, and perhaps a book; not speaking, but now and
then stroking his knee or laying her cheek gently against it. All the
time she felt so sorry that she could not help papa. But I think she
did help, for papa liked to have her there, and the presence of a love
which asks no questions and is content with loving, is most soothing
of all, sometimes, to people who are in perplexity, and trying to see
their way out.

But none of Eyebright's strokes or pats or fond little ways could
drive the care away from her father's brow. His trouble was too heavy
for that. It was a kind of trouble which he could not very well
explain to a child; trouble about business and money,--things which
little people do not understand; and matters were getting worse
instead of better. He was like a man in a thorny wood, who cannot see
his way out, and his mind was more confused and anxious than any one
except himself could comprehend.

At last things came to such a pass that there was no choice left, and
he was forced to explain to Eyebright. It was April by that time. He
was at his desk as usual, and Eyebright, sitting near, had Genevieve
cuddled in her lap, and the "Swiss Family Robinson" open before her.

"Now you're done, arn't you, papa!" she cried, as he laid down his
pen. "You won't write any more to-night, will you, but sit in the
rocking-chair and rest." She was jumping up to get the chair, when he
stopped her.

"I'm not through yet, my dear. But I want to talk with you for a
little while."

"O papa, how nice! May I sit on your knee while you talk?"

Papa said yes, and she seated herself. He put his arm round her, and
for a while stroked her hair in silence. Eyebright looked up,
wonderingly.

"Yes, dear, I'll tell you presently. I'm trying to think how to begin.
It's something disagreeable, Eyebright,--something which will make you
feel very bad, I'm afraid."

"Oh dear! what is it?" cried Eyebright, fearfully. "Do tell me, papa."

"What should you say if I told you that we can't live here any longer,
but must go away?"

"Away from this house, do you mean, papa?"

"Yes, away from this house, and away from Tunxet, too."

"Not away for always?" said Eyebright, in an awe-struck tone. "You
don't mean that, papa, do you? We couldn't liv