The room was large, and furnished with an eye to economy. The carpet was of no particular pattern, having long since been worn down to the thread; and the household gods consisted of five chairs and a couch covered by that peculiar-looking horsehair, which might, from its hardness and capacity for wear, be woven steel. A misty-looking glass in a maple frame, and a chimney-board decked with two blue-and-green shepherdesses of an impossible period, completed the garniture. In the centre of the room was a round oak table with spidery uncertain legs, and at the table sat a young man writing. He was young, apparently not more than thirty, but the unmistakable shadow of care lay on his face. His dress was suggestive of one who had been somewhat dandyish in time gone by, but who had latterly ceased to trouble about appearances or neatness. For a time he continued steadily at his work, watched intently by a little child who sat coiled up in the hard-looking armchair, and waiting with exemplary patience for the worker to quit his employment. As he worked on, the child became visibly interested as the page approached completion, and at last, with a weary sigh, he finished, pushed his work from him, and turned with a bright smile to the patient little one. ‘You’ve been a very good little girl, Nelly.—Now, what is it you have so particularly to say to me?’ he said. ‘Is it a tale you are writing, papa?’ she asked. ‘Yes, darling; but not the sort of tale to interest you.’ ‘I like all your tales, papa. Uncle Jasper told mamma they were all so “liginal.” I like liginal tales.’ ‘I suppose you mean original, darling?’ ‘I said liginal,’ persisted the little one, with childish gravity. ‘Are you going to sell that one, papa? I hope you will; I want a new dolly so badly. My old dolly is getting quite shabby.’ ‘Some day you shall have plenty.’ The child looked up in his face solemnly. ‘Really, papa! But do you know, pa, that some day seems such a long way off? How old am I, papa?’ ‘Very, very old, Nelly,’ he replied with a little laugh. ‘Not quite so old as I am, but very old.’ ‘Yes, papa? Then do you know, ever since I can remember, that some day has been coming. Will it come this week?’ ‘I don’t know, darling. It may come any time. It may come to-day; perhaps it is on the way now.’ ‘I don’t know, papa,’ replied the little one, shaking her head solemnly. ‘It is an awful while coming. I prayed so hard last night for it to come, after mamma put me in bed. What makes mamma cry when she puts me to bed? Is she crying for some day?’ ‘Oh, that’s all your fancy, little one,’ replied the father huskily. ‘Mamma does not cry. You must be mistaken.’ ‘No, indeed, papa; I’se not mistook. One day I heard mamma sing about some day, and then she cried—she made my face quite wet.’ ‘Hush, Nelly; don’t talk like that, darling.’ ‘But she did,’ persisted the little one. ‘Do you ever cry, papa?’