by remembering all your life that your father blessed God for giving him
a son who spoke truth in spite of fear! Oh! Mrs. Primmins, the next
fable of this kind you try to teach him, and we part forever!"

From that time I first date the hour when I felt that I loved my father,
and knew that he loved me; from that time, too, he began to converse
with me. He would no longer, if he met me in the garden, pass by with a
smile and nod; he would stop, put his book in his pocket, and though his
talk was often above my comprehension, still somehow I felt happier and
better, and less of an infant, when I thought over it, and tried to
puzzle out the meaning; for he had away of suggesting, not teaching,
putting things into my head, and then leaving them to work out their own
problems. I remember a special instance with respect to that same
flower-pot and geranium. Mr. Squills, who was a bachelor, and well-to-
do in the world, often made me little presents. Not long after the
event I have narrated, he gave me one far exceeding in value those
usually bestowed on children,--it was a beautiful large domino-box in
cut ivory, painted and gilt. This domino-box was my delight. I was
never weary of playing, at dominos with Mrs. Primmins, and I slept with
the box under my pillow.

"Ah!" said my father one day, when he found me ranging the ivory
parallelograms in the parlor, "ah! you like that better than all your
playthings, eh?"

"Oh, yes, papa!"

"You would be very sorry if your mamma were to throw that box out of the
window and break it for fun." I looked beseechingly at my father, and
made no answer.