garment of the air, and the lordly sun over all. The most loving of you
can not imagine how one day the love of the Father will make you love
even your own.

Much trustful talk passed between father and daughter as they walked
home: they were now nearer to each other than ever in their lives
before.

"You don't mind my coming out here alone, papa?" said Dorothy, as, after
a little chat with the gate-keeper, they left the park. "I have of late
found it so good to be alone! I think I am beginning to learn to think."

"Do in every thing just as you please, my child," said her father. "I
can have no objection to what you see good. Only don't be so late as to
make me anxious."

"I like coming early," said Dorothy. "These lovely mornings make me feel
as if the struggles of life were over, and only a quiet old age were
left."

The father looked anxiously at his daughter. Was she going to leave him?
It smote him to the heart that he had done so little to make her life a
blessed one. How hard no small portion of it had been! How worn and pale
she looked! Why did she not show fresh and bright like other young
women--Mrs. Faber for instance? He had not guided her steps into the way
of peace! At all events he had not led her home to the house of wisdom
and rest! Too good reason why--he had not himself yet found that home!
Henceforth, for her sake as well as his own, he would besiege the
heavenly grace with prayer.