"Papa," she said, clinging to his hand, "I--I want to speak to you."
He sat down and drew her to his side, putting an arm about her waist.
"Well, daughter, what is it?" he asked kindly, stroking the hair back from
her forehead with the other hand.
"Papa, I--I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry for----" she stammered, her
eyes drooping, her cheeks growing crimson.
"Sorry for your former naughtiness and rebellion?" he asked gently, as she
paused, leaving her sentence unfinished.
"Yes, papa, I couldn't bear to let you go away without telling you so
again."
"Well, daughter, it was all forgiven long ago, and you have been a pretty
good girl most of the time since that first sad week."
"Papa, I do want to be good," she said earnestly, "but somehow the badness
will get the better of me."
"Yes; each one of us has an evil nature to fight against," he said, "and
it will get the better of us unless we are very determined and battle with
it, not in our own strength only, but crying mightily for assistance to
Him who has said, 'In me is thine help.'
"We must watch and pray, my child. The Bible bids us keep our hearts with
all diligence, and set a watch at the door of our lips that we sin not
with our tongues.
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