Good Books

"Papa! could you stand on your head and shake hands with your foot?"
demanded this young rogue, confronting his father with towzled curls and
flushed cheeks.
Lord Winsleigh laughed. "Really, Ernest, I don't think I could!" he
answered good-naturedly. "Haven't you talked enough about the circus by
this time? I thought you were ready for sleep, otherwise I should not
have come up to say good-night."
Ernest studied the patient, kind features of his father for a moment,
and then slipped penitently under the bedclothes, settling his restless
young head determinedly on the pillow.
"I'm all right now!" he murmured, with a demure, dimpling smile. Then,
with a tender upward twinkle of his merry blue eyes, he added,
"Good-night, papa dear! God bless you!"
A sort of wistful pathos softened the grave lines of Lord Winsleigh's
countenance as he bent once more over the little bed, and pressed his
bearded lips lightly on the boy's fresh cheek, as cool and soft as a
rose-leaf.
"God bless you, little man!" he answered softly, and there was a slight
quiver in his calm voice.


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