man," said the landlord. "I call my wife the best cook in Cedarville."
As he spoke, a neatly dressed girl, about six teen years of age, with rather an attractive countenance, passed through the room.
"My daughter," said the landlord, as she vanished through the door. There was a sparkle of pride in the father's eyes, and a certain tenderness in the tones of his voice, as he said "My daughter" that told me she was very dear to him.
"You are a happy man to have so fair a child," said I, speaking more in compliment than with a careful choice of words.
"I am a happy man," was the landlord's smiling answer; his fair, round face, unwrinkled by a line of care or trouble, beaming with self-satisfaction. "I have always been a happy man, and always expect to be. Simon Slade takes the world as it comes, and takes it easy. My son, sir," he added, as a boy, in his twelfth year, came in. "Speak to the gentleman."
