"Oh, and you are my one little girl! I love you dearly. Are you not glad to have me come back and bring all my limbs? For some poor fellows have left an arm or a leg on the battlefield. Suppose I had to walk with a crutch like poor old Pete Nares?" She stopped short and viewed him from head to foot. "No, I shouldn't like it," she returned decisively. "But you would feel sorry for me?" "You couldn't dance then. And grandad tells of your dancing and that you and mother looked so pretty, that you could dance longer and better than any one. And he was quite sure you would come home all--all----" "All battered up. But I think he and Norry would have been very good to me. And mother and everybody. And now say you love me a little." "I was afraid of you," rather reluctantly. "You were not like--oh, you were so strange." What an elusive little thing she was! "But you are not afraid now. I think I never heard of a little girl who didn't love her father." "But you see the fathers stay home with them. There are the Mullin children and the Boyles. But I shouldn't like Mr. Boyle for a father." "Why?" with a touch of curiosity. "Oh, because----" "Andy Boyle seems very nice and jolly. We used to be great friends. And he gave me a warm welcome." "I can't like him;" emphatically. "He beat Teddy." "I suppose Teddy was bad. Children are not always good. What would you have done if you had been Teddy?" he asked with a half smile. "I would--I would have bitten his hand, the one that struck. And then I should have run away, out in the woods and frozen to death, maybe." "Why my father thrashed me and I know I deserved it. And you are not going to hate grandad for it?" She raised her lovely eyes and looked him all over. "Were you very little?" she asked. "Well--I think I wasn't very good as a boy." "Then I don't like grandad as well. I'm bigger than Judy, but do you suppose I would beat her?" "But if she went in the pantry and stole something?" "Can you steal things in your own house?" "Oh what a little casuist you are. But we haven't settled the other question--are you going to love me?" "I can't tell right away;" reluctantly. "Well, I am going to love you. You are all the little girl I have." "But you have all the other people." He laughed good-naturedly. She was very amusing in her unreason. And unlike most children he had seen she held her love rather high. "I shall get a horse," he said, "and you will ride with me. And when the spring fairly comes in we will take walks and find wild flowers and watch the birds as they go singing about. Maybe I can think up some stories to tell you. I am going to be very good to you for I want you to love me." She seemed to consider. Then she saw grandad, who had a little squirrel in his hands. Some of them were very tame, so she ran to look at it. "A queer little thing," said the father to himself. CHAPTER IV OLD PITTSBURG