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 in a fit of impatience she struck her mother who was standing by. Just then her father entered. Though neither of them said a word, her manner at once indicated that she knew she had forfeited his accustomed kiss. After dinner, instead of returning to her playthings as usual when her father left, she sat with her hands quietly resting in her lap for almost the first time in her life, or stood gazing thoughtfully out at the window. She was evidently in a dilemma, and was exerting all the powers of her mind to extricate herself from it. Love was the very centre of her existence, and especially she could not live without her father's kiss. As the hour drew near for his return she went up softly to her mother, and said in a low voice, "Mother, I want to kiss you."

After receiving the proffered kiss, observing that she still stood with her large, wondering blue eyes fixed upon her, she said, "What is it, Rosa, what do you want to say?"

Leaning her head a little on one side, still looking wistfully at her, she answered, "I wish you would say it, mother, I can't."

"Say what, Rosa, that you are sorry you struck me?"

"Yes, yes, mother, that's it," and, evidently with a feeling of great relief she ran to the window to watch for her father. When she saw him coming, instead of running to meet him she retreated to the sofa, which was her place of refuge in every emergency.

Seeing that she showed no disposition to cOme forward as he entered the room and that he did not