about her and drew her to his knee.

"But it wasn't left out," she said, shyly returning his fond caress; "I
promised and must keep my word."

"Ah, but if you can't, you can't; how will you obey when you get no
orders?"

"So you don't mean to give me any?"

"No, indeed; I'm your husband, your friend, your protector, your lover,
but not your master."

"Now, Mr. Travilla----"

"I asked you to call me Edward."

"But it seems so disrespectful."

"More so than to remind me of the disparity of our years? or than to
disregard my earnest wish? Then I think I'll have to require the keeping
of the promise in this one thing. Say Edward, little wife, and never again
call me Mr. Travilla when we are alone."

"Well, Edward, I will try to obey; and if I use the wrong word through
forgetfulness you must please excuse it. But ah, I remember papa would say
that was no excuse."

"But I shall not be so strict--unless you forget too often. I have
sometimes thought my friend too hard with his tender-hearted, sensitive
little daughter."

"Don't blame him--my dear, dear father!" she said, low and tremulously,
her face growing grave and almost sad for the moment. "He was very strict,
it is true, but none too strict in the matter of requiring prompt and
implicit obedience, and oh, so kind, so loving, so tender, so
sympathizing. I could, and did go to him with every little childish joy
and sorrow, every trouble, vexation, and perplexity; always sure of
sympathy, and help, too, if needed. Never once did he repulse me, or show
himself an uninterested listener.

"He would take me on his knee, hear all I had to say, clasp me close to
his heart, caress me, call me pet names, joy, sorrow with, or counsel me
as the case required, and bid me always come freely to him so, assuring me
that nothing which concerned me, one way or another, was too trivial to
interest him, and he would be glad to know I had not a thought or feeling
concealed from him. I doubt if even you, my friend, have ever known all
that papa has been and is to me: father, mother, everything--but
husband," she added with a blush and smile, as her eyes met the kindly,
tender look in his.

"Ah, that is my blessed privilege," he whispered, drawing her closer to
him. "My wife, my own precious little wife! God keep me from ever being
less tender, loving, sympathizing to you than your father has been."

"I do not fear it, my husband. Oh, was ever woman so blessed with love as
I