Poor Mr. Shaw had been so busy getting rich, that he had not
found time to teach his children to love him; he was more at
leisure now, and as his boy and girls grew up, he missed
something. Polly was unconsciously showing him what it was, and
making child-love so sweet, that he felt he could not do without it
any more, yet did n't quite know how to win the confidence of the
children, who had always found him busy, indifferent, and
absentminded.
As the girls were going to bed one night, Polly kissed grandma, as
usual, and Fanny laughed at her, saying, "What a baby you are! We
are too old for such things now."
"I don't think people ever are too old to kiss their fathers and
mothers," was the quick answer.
"Right, my little Polly;" and Mr. Shaw stretched out his hand to her
with such a kindly look, that Fanny stared surprised, and then said,
shyly, "I thought you did n't care about it, father." "I do, my dear:"
And Mr. Shaw put out the other hand to Fanny, who gave him a
daughterly kiss, quite forgetting everything but the tender feeling
that sprung up in her heart at the renewal of the childish custom
which we never need outgrow.
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