By the time Professor Valeyon had remounted the granite steps, he was
quite ready to do justice to his breakfast. Cornelia came singing
down-stairs, with a full-blown tea-rose in her hair, and looking as if
she had already breakfasted upon the greater part of the day's sunshine.
She reported Sophie to be awake and comfortable, so the gentleman
climbed up-stairs and shuffled into her peaceful, rose-colored room to
give her a morning kiss. The Lord's Prayer glowed forth as brightly from
the wall as if it had been pronounced for the first time that day.
"Well, heard all about my new pupil from Cornelia, I suppose?" said
papa, when the kiss had been given, sitting down by the bedside, and
holding his daughter's pale, slender hand in his own.
"He who came last evening? No, I've not seen Neelie to speak to her,
since he was here. What is he to be taught?"
"Wants to be a minister," replied the professor, rubbing his beard.
"Shall do what I can for him, because he's the son of a former friend,
now dead. I'm afraid he won't do, though. Needs a good deal besides
Hebrew and history."
"But you can give him all he does need, papa," rejoined Sophie, with
serene faith in the old gentleman's infallibility.
"I don't know," returned he, his eyes resting upon the Lord's Prayer.
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