“ Rather , papa,” echoed she, with her slightly dry, yet gentle and simple tone.

“And you don’t like him now? What has he done?”

“Nothing. Y-e-s, I like him a little; but we are grown strange to each other.”

“Then rub it off, Polly: rub the rust and the strangeness off. Talk away when he is here, and have no fear of him!”

“ He does not talk much. Is he afraid of me, do you think, papa?”

“Oh, to be sure, what man would not be afraid of such a little silent lady?”