silvery voice.

"Pa's a fool," he answered in his deep chest-tones, with a vexed
good-humor; "and you know it."

"What's the matter with pa? What makes him be a great bear? Papa-sy,
dear," she continued, stroking his face with her little hands, and
patting him, very much as Beauty might have patted the Beast after she
fell in love with him; or as if he were a great baby. In fact, he began
to look then as if he were.

"Matter? Oh! everything's the matter, little Netty. The world goes
round too fast. My boots pinch. Somebody stole my umbrella last year.
And I've got a headache." He concluded this fanciful abstract of his
grievances by putting his arms around her, and kissing her again. Then
he sat down in the easy-chair, and took her fondly on his knee.

"Pa's got a headache! It is t-o-o bad, so it is," she continued in the
same soothing, winning way, caressing his brow with her tiny hands.
"It's a horrid shame, so it is! P-o-o-r pa. Where does it ache, papa-sy,
dear? In the forehead? Cerebrum or cerebellum, papa-sy? Occiput or
sinciput, deary?"

"Bah! you little quiz," he replied, laughing and pinching her cheek,
"none of your nonsense! And what are you dressed up in this way for,
to-night? Silks, and laces, and essences, and what not! Where are you
going, fairy?"

"Going out with mother for the evening, Dr. Renton," she replied
briskly; "Mrs. Larrabee's party, papa-sy. Christmas eve, you know. And