blushing, sheepishly and happily, while Mr.
Brotherton was mentally calculating that he would be in his middle
fifties before a possible little girl of his might be putting on her
first long dresses. It saddened him a little, and he turned, rather
subdued, and called into the alcove to the Judge and said:

"Tom, this is our friend, Miss Van Dorn--I was just sending a message by
her to a dear--a very dear friend I used to have, named Lila, who is
gone. Miss Van Dorn knows Lila, and sees her sometimes. So now that you
are here, I'm going to send this to Lila," he raised the girl's hand to
his lips and awkwardly kissed it, as he said clumsily, "well, say, my
dear--will you see that Lila gets that?"

Her father stepped toward the embarrassed girl and spoke:

"Lila--Lila--can't you come here a moment, dear?"

He was standing by the smoldering fire, brushing a rolled newspaper
against his leg. Something within him--perhaps Mr. Brotherton's awkward
kiss stirred it--was trying to soften the proud, hard face that was
losing the mobility which once had been its charm. He held out a hand,
and leaned toward the girl. She stepped toward him and asked, "What is
it?"

An awkward pause followed, which the man broke with, "Well--nothing in
particular, child; only I thought maybe you'd like--well, tell me how
are you getting along in High School, little girl."

"Oh, very well; I believe," she answered, but did not lift her eyes to
his. Mr. Brotherton moved back to his desk. Again there was silence. The
girl did not move away, though the father feared through every painful
second that she would. Finally he said: "I hear your mother is getting
on famously down in South Harvey. Our people down there say she is doing
wonders with her cooking club for girls."

Lila smiled and answered: "She'll be glad to know it, I'm sure." Again
she paused, and waited.

"Lila," he cried, "won't you let me help you--do something for you?--I
wish so much--so much to fill a father's place with you, my dear--so
much."

He stepped toward her, felt for her hand, but could not find it. She
looked up at him, and in her eyes there rose the old cloud of sadness
that came only once in a long time. It was a puzzled face that he saw
looking steadily into his.

"I don't know what you could do," she answered simply.

Something about the pathetic loneliness of his unfathered child,
evidenced by the sadness that flitted across her face, touched a remote,
unsull