Page:The Father Confessor, Stories of Danger and Death.djvu/143

Rh ran to her father. She found him in his study, walking up and down, up and down, as if he could not tire. She slipped in and hid by the door, and, as he passed, jumped out upon him. He did not start or laugh, as she had meant him to, but the lines about his forehead deepened. He took her into his arms, and, seating himself with her upon his lap, gazed into her little face.

"Not a feature of hers, not a look!" he said. "O my God!" He put her down and forgot her, walking up and down the room without pause. The child, hurt and frightened, commenced to cry. At the sound he stopped and gathered her to him.

"Poor little one!" he soothed her; "do not cry. Tears are not for the young; and the old," he added pitifully, "are denied them." Putting the child down, he took her by the hand. "Have you nothing pretty to show me?" he said.

The child skipped beside him like a young lamb.

"There's a nest," she cried, "in Donald's Field. But it is a long way, a very long way, maybe a mile."