"
I returned to my wife. She was in Connie's room.
"Well, my dear," I said, "what do you think of it?"
"Of what?" she asked.
"Why, of Shepherd's letter, of course," I answered.
"I've been ordering the dinner since, Harry."
"The dinner!" I returned with some show of contempt, for I knew my wife was
only teasing me. "What's the dinner to the Atlantic?"
"What do you mean by the Atlantic, papa?" said Connie, from whose roguish
eyes I could see that her mother had told her all about it, and that _she_
was not disinclined to get up, if only she could.
"The Atlantic, my dear, is the name given to that portion of the waters of
the globe which divides Europe from America. I will fetch you the Universal
Gazetteer, if you would like to consult it on the subject."
"O papa!" laughed Connie; "you know what I mean."
"Yes; and you know what I mean too, you squirrel!"
"But do you really mean, papa," she said "that you will take me to the
Atlantic?"
"If you will only oblige me by getting Well enough to go as soon as
possible."
The poor child half rose on her elbow, but sank back again with a moan,
which I took for a cry of pain.
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