handkerchief there; bring it to me."

She obeyed; went and returned deftly and nimbly. He was talking to
Mrs. Bretton when she came back, and she waited with the handkerchief
in her hand. It was a picture, in its way, to see her, with her tiny
stature, and trim, neat shape, standing at his knee. Seeing that he
continued to talk, apparently unconscious of her return, she took his
hand, opened the unresisting fingers, insinuated into them the
handkerchief, and closed them upon it one by one. He still seemed not
to see or to feel her; but by-and-by, he lifted her to his knee; she
nestled against him, and though neither looked at nor spoke to the
other for an hour following, I suppose both were satisfied.

During tea, the minute thing's movements and behaviour gave, as usual,
full occupation to the eye. First she directed Warren, as he placed
the chairs.

"Put papa's chair here, and mine near it, between papa and Mrs.
Bretton: _I_ must hand his tea."

She took her own seat, and beckoned with her hand to her father.

"Be near me, as if we were at home, papa."

And again, as she intercepted his cup in passing, and would stir the
sugar, and put in the cream herself, "I always did it for you at home;
papa: nobody could do it as well, not even your own self."

Throughout the meal she continued her attentions: rather absurd they
were. The sugar-tongs were too wide for one of her hands, and she had