Miss Diana, glancing from her father to Lulu, drew herself up haughtily and replied, "Miss Raymond refuses obedience to orders."

"Indeed!" he said, his frown growing darker and expending itself entirely upon the culprit. "How is that? What were the orders, and what reason does she assign for refusing obedience?"

"The signor sent word that she had not finished her music-lesson, and that he desired her to return and do so. I directed her to obey the summons, and she flatly refused; giving as her only reason that he was not a gentleman."

"Not a gentleman!" repeated the professor in accents of astonishment and indignation—"not a gentleman! In making such an assertion, young miss, you insult not the signor merely, but myself also; since it was I who engaged him to give instruction in music to the pupils of this establishment. Pray, miss, on what do you found your most absurd opinion?"

"Upon his conduct, sir," replied Lulu, returning the man's stare unblenchingly, while her cheeks reddened and her eyes flashed with anger; "he has treated me to-day as no gentleman would ever treat a lady or a little girl."

"How?"

"Scolding and storming when I was doing my very best, and going on to actually strike me—me whom he was forbidden from the very first ever to strike. Both Grandpa Dinsmore and Grandma Elsie—I mean Mrs. Travilla—forbade it when they put me in his class; for I had told them I wouldn't be taught by him if he was allowed to treat me so; and they said he should not."

"Ah! he should not have done so; I do not allow girls to be punished in that manner here. I shall speak to the signor about it. But you will go and finish your lesson."

Lulu made no movement to obey, no reply except a look that said plainly that she had no intention of obeying.

"Did you hear me, miss?" he asked wrathfully.

"I did; but I have already said several times that I would never be taught by that man again."

He made a step toward her and a threatening gesture, but paused, seemed to consider a moment, then saying, "We will see what your guardians have to say about that," turned and left the room.

Every one seemed to draw a long breath of relief, and smiles, nods, and significant glances were exchanged.

"The hour for the closing of school has arrived, young ladies, and you are dismissed," said Miss Diana; and she also sailed from the room.

Instantly the girls, some twenty in number, flocked about Lulu with eager, excited exclamations and questions.

"Did he really strike you, Lu?"

"How did you take it?"

"I hope you returned the blow? I certainly shall if ever he dares to lift his hand to me." This from a haughty-looking brunette of fourteen or fifteen.

"Brings it down, you mean, with a snap of his pointer on your fingers," laughed a merry little girl with golden hair and big blue eyes.

Neither Rosie nor Evelyn had spoken as yet, though the one was standing, the other sitting, close at Lulu's side.

Lulu's left hand lay in her lap, her handkerchief wrapped loosely about it. Eva gently removed the handkerchief, and tears sprang to her eyes at sight of the wounded fingers.

"Oh, Lu!" she cried in accents of love and pity, "how he has hurt you!"

A shower of exclamations followed from the others. "Hasn't he? the vile wretch!"

"Cruel monster! worst of savages! He ought to be flogged within an inch of his life!"

"He ought to be shot down like a dog!"

"He ought to be hung!"

"It's a very great shame," said Rosie, putting her arm affectionately round Lulu's neck. "I hope grandpa will have him arrested and sent to prison."

"But oh, Lu," cried Nettie Vance, the one who had brought the signor's message, "do tell me, didn't you strike him back? He looked as if he had had a pretty heavy blow on the side of his face."

"So he had; as hard a one as I could give with the music-book in both hands," replied Lulu, smiling grimly at the recollection.

Her statement was received with peals of laughter, clapping of hands and cries of,

"Good for you, Miss Raymond!"

"Oh, but I'm glad he got his deserts for once!"

"I think he'll be apt to keep his hands—or rather his pointer—off you in the future."

"Off other people too," added a timid little girl who had felt its sting more than once. "I was rejoiced to hear the professor say he didn't allow such punishment for girls. I'll let the signor know, and that I'll inform on him if ever he touches me with his pointer again."

"So should I," said Nettie; "I wouldn't put up with it. But he has never hurt you as he has Lulu. See! every one of her fingers is blistered!"

"Yes; it must have hurt terribly. I don't wonder she struck him back."

"Indeed, it wasn't the pain I cared so much for," returned Lulu, scorning the implication; "it was the insult."

"Young ladies," said a severely reproving voice behind them, "why are you tarrying here? It is high time you were all on your homeward way. Miss Rosie Travilla, Miss Evelyn Leland, and Miss Raymond, the Viamede carriage has been in waiting for the last half-hour."

The speaker was no other than Mrs. Manton, who had entered unperceived by them in their excitement.

No one replied to her rebuke, but there was a sudden scurrying into the cloak-room, followed by a hasty donning of hats and wraps.

Rosie brought up the rear, muttering, as she drew out and glanced at a pretty little watch, "Hardly so long as that, I am sure!"

"Ah, you can't expect perfect accuracy under such trying circumstances," laughed Nettie Vance.

"Wait, Lu," said Evelyn, softly; "let me help you with your cloak, or you will be sure to hurt those poor fingers."

"How kind you are, Eva!" whispered Lulu, her face lighting up with pleasure as she accepted the offer; "how good to me! Oh, it is nice to have such a friend as you!"



CHAPTER XVIII.

"For what I will, I will, and there's an end."

SHAKESPEAKE.

Max was on the veranda, waiting, like the little gentleman he was, to hand the girls into the carriage.

Hardly were they seated therein and the door closed upon them, when he exclaimed, "Why, what's the matter?"

"Why do you think anything is?" queried Rosie, with an attempt to laugh.

"Because you all look so excited, and—what's your hand wrapped up for, Lu?"

She removed the handkerchief and held the hand out before him.

"Who did that? Who dared do such a thing to my sister?" he asked hotly, his face crimsoning with anger and indignation.

"Never mind who," said Lulu.

"Signor Foresti," said Rosie. "I hope grandpa will have him fined and imprisoned for it—such a cowardly, savage attack as it was!"

"I only wish I was big enough and strong enough to flog him well for it," growled Max, clenching his fists and speaking between his shut teeth. "If papa were here, I think the cowardly villain wouldn't escape without a sound drubbing."

Lulu laughed rather hysterically as she said, "I took the law into my own hands, Max, and punished him pretty well for it, I believe."

"You did!" he exclaimed in utter astonishment; "how? I shouldn't think you had the strength to grapple with him."

"I didn't, exactly, but before he knew what was coming I hit him a blow that I think nearly knocked him down;" and she went on to repeat the whole story for Max's benefit.

The occurrence was the theme of conversation all the way home; and on their arrival, Mr. Dinsmore and the ladies being found on the veranda, the case was at once laid before them in all its details.

All were indignant at the treatment Lulu had received, but somewhat shocked, also, at her retaliation.

"You should not have done that," Mr. Dinsmore said reprovingly; "it was by no means lady-like. I should not have blamed you for at once vacating the piano-stool and walking out of the room; but his punishment should have been left to older and wiser hands."

"There's enough more owing him for older and wiser hands to attend to," remarked Lulu; "and I hope it won't be neglected."

An amused smile trembled about the corners of Mr. Dinsmore's mouth; but only for an instant.

"Measures shall be taken to prevent a recurrence of the unpleasantness of to-day," he said with becoming gravity. "I shall myself call upon the signor and warn him to beware of ever repeating it."

"He won't repeat it to me, because I shall never take another lesson from him," said Lulu, steadily, looking straight into Mr. Dinsmore's eyes as she spoke.

"The choice is not with you," he answered somewhat sternly; "you are under orders and must do as you are bid. But we will not discuss the matter further at present," he added with a wave of the hand, as dismissing her.

She turned to go, in no very amiable mood.

"Lulu, dear," said Grandma Elsie, rising and following her, "those poor fingers must be attended to. I have some salve which will be soothing and healing to them; will you come with me and let me dress them with it?"

"Yes, ma'am, thank you," the child answered half chokingly, the kind sympathy expressed in the words and tones quite overcoming her with a strong reaction from the stubborn, defiant mood into which Mr. Dinsmore's closing remarks had thrown her.

Mr. Dinsmore's decision was truly a disappointment to all the children; for once even Rosie was inclined to warmly espouse Lulu's cause. Though standing in considerable awe of her grandfather, she ventured upon a mild remonstrance.

"Grandpa, don't you think that man has behaved badly enough to deserve to lose his pupil?"

"I do most decidedly," he answered; "but Lulu is improving wonderfully under his tuition, and should not, I think, be allowed to lose the advantage of it while we remain here."

"I very much fear his usefulness is over so far as she is concerned," sighed Violet. "And, grandpa, I dread the struggle you will certainly have with her if you insist upon her continuance in his class. I never saw a more determined look than she wore when she said that she would never take another lesson of him."

"Do not trouble yourself," he said; "I think I am fully equal to the contest. I should gladly avoid it if it seemed to me right to do so, but it does not. It is high time Lulu was taught proper submission to lawful authority."

Max, standing with averted face, a little apart from the speaker, heard every word that was said.

The boy was sorely troubled. He turned and walked away, saying to himself, "She will never do it; I don't believe any power on earth can make her, and Grandpa Dinsmore is about as determined as she; so what is to come of it I can't tell. Oh, if papa were only here! nobody else can manage Lu when she gets into one of her stubborn fits, and I don't believe he'd make her go back to that horrid savage of a music-teacher. I've a notion to write and tell him all about it. But no, where would be the use? I dare say the whole affair will be over before my letter could reach him and an answer come back."

Very tenderly and carefully Elsie bound up the wounded fingers; then taking the little girl in her arms she kissed her kindly, saying, "You were treated very badly, my dear child, but it is not likely the man will venture to act so again after my father has spoken to him and warned him of the consequences of such behavior."

"I think he won't to me," Lulu answered, the stubborn, defiant look returning to her face.

"Do the fingers feel better?" Elsie asked gently.

"Yes, ma'am; and I am very much obliged. Grandma Elsie, do you know where Gracie is?"

"I think you will find her in the playroom."

Lulu immediately resorted thither, and found Grace playing happily with her dolls.

"Oh, Lu, I'm so glad you have come!" she cried, glancing up at her sister as she entered.

"I do miss you so all day long while you are at school! But what's the matter with your hand?" she asked with concern.

"Nothing very serious," Lulu answered carelessly. "That villain of a music-teacher snapped his pointer on my fingers and blistered them; that's all."

"Oh, Lu, what a shame! Did it hurt you very much?"

"Quite a good deal; but of course it was the insult, not the pain, that I cared for."

She went on to give the details of the occurrence to this new listener, who heard them with tears of sympathy and indignation.

"I think somebody ought to whip him," she said; "and I hope he'll never have a chance to strike you again."

"I don't intend he shall. I've said I won't take another lesson from him, and I don't intend to. But Grandpa Dinsmore says I must; so there'll be another fight."

"Oh, Lu, don't!" cried Grace, in terror; "don't try to fight him. Don't you remember how he 'most made Grandma Elsie die when she was a little girl, 'cause she wouldn't do what he told her to?"

Lulu nodded. "But I'm another kind of girl," she said; "and I'm not his child, so I think he wouldn't dare be quite so cruel to me."

"How brave you are, Lulu!" Grace exclaimed in admiration. "But, oh, I am so sorry for you! I'd be frightened 'most to death, I think; frightened to think of going back to that signor, and dreadfully afraid to refuse if Grandpa Dinsmore said I must."

"Yes, you poor little thing! but I'm not so timid, you know. Grandpa Dinsmore can't frighten me into breaking my word."

"But, you know, Lu," said Max, coming in at that moment, "that papa has ordered us to obey Grandpa Dinsmore, and if we refuse we are disobeying our father too."

"I am sure papa never thought he would want me to go on taking lessons of a man that struck me," cried Lulu, indignantly. "Besides, I've said I won't, and nothing on earth shall make me break my word."

"I wish papa was here," sighed Max, looking sorely troubled.

"So do I," responded Lulu. "I'm sure he wouldn't make me go back to that hateful old Signor Foresti."

That evening Max, Lulu, Rosie, and Evelyn were in the schoolroom at Viamede, preparing their lessons for the morrow, when a servant came up with a message for Lulu; she was wanted in the library.

Flushing hotly, and looking a good deal disturbed, Lulu pushed aside her books and rose to obey the summons.

"Only Miss Lulu? nobody else, Jim?" asked Rosie.

"I 'spects so, Miss Rosie; dat's all Massa Dinsmore say."

"Oh, Lu, I'm sorry for you!" whispered Evelyn, catching Lulu's hand and pressing it affectionately in hers.

"You're very kind, but I'm not afraid," Lulu answered, drawing herself up with dignity; then she hurried to the library, not giving herself time to think what might be in store for her there.

She started with surprise, and paused for an instant on the threshold, as she perceived that Professor Manton was there with Mr. Dinsmore, who was the only other occupant of the room.

"Come in, Lulu," Mr. Dinsmore said, seeing her hesitation; "you have nothing to fear if you are disposed to be good and docile."

As he spoke he pointed to a low chair by his side.

Lulu came quietly forward and took it.

"I'm not afraid, Grandpa Dinsmore," she said in low, even tones. "Good-evening, Professor Manton."

"Good-evening," he replied, with a stiff nod. "I am sorry to be brought here by so unpleasant a duty as laying a complaint against you."

"You needn't care; I don't," she said with the utmost nonchalance.

He lifted his eyebrows in astonishment, and had nearly forgotten his dignity so far as to utter a low whistle, but caught himself just in time.

Mr. Dinsmore frowned darkly.

"What is the meaning of such talk, Lulu?" he inquired. "If you do not care for the displeasure of teachers and guardians you are indeed a naughty girl."

He paused for a reply, but none came, and he went on: "Professor Manton has brought me a report of your conduct to-day, agreeing substantially with the one given by yourself, and I have called you down to tell him in your presence that you are to go on taking lessons of Signor Foresti."

Lulu's cheeks crimsoned, and she looked from one to the other with flashing eyes.

"Grandpa Dinsmore and Professor Manton, I have said several times, and I say it again, I will never take another lesson from that man!"

"Then you deliberately defy the authority of both the professor and myself?" Mr. Dinsmore queried sternly.

"In this one thing I do."

"The consequences may be very unpleasant," he said significantly and with rising anger.

"I know the consequences of giving up and taking lessons again from Signor Foresti would be very unpleasant," she retorted.

"Leave the room!" he commanded, with a stamp of the foot that sent Lulu's heart up into her throat, though she tried to appear perfectly calm and unconcerned as she silently rose and obeyed the order.

"Really the most amazingly audacious, impertinent child I ever saw!" muttered the professor. Then aloud, "What is to be done with her, sir?" he asked.

"She must be made to obey, of course," replied Mr. Dinsmore.

"Yes, yes, certainly; but what measure would you have me take to bring her to submission?"

"None; you will please leave all that to me."

"Then if to-morrow she refuses to finish that interrupted lesson, you would have me simply report the fact to you?"

"No, sir; even that will be quite unnecessary; she will tell me herself. I am proud to be able to say of her that she is a perfectly truthful and honest child."

"I am glad to learn that she has at least one virtue as an offset to her very serious faults," observed the professor, dryly, then rising, "Allow me to bid you good-evening, sir," and with that he took his departure.

Mr. Dinsmore saw him to the outer door, then returning, began pacing the floor with arms folded on his breast and a heavy frown on his brow.

But presently Elsie and Violet came in, both looking anxious and disturbed, and stopping his walk he sat down with them and reported all that had passed during the call of Professor Manton; after which they held a consultation in regard to the means to be taken to induce Lulu to be submissive and obedient.

"Shall we not try mild measures at first, papa?" Elsie asked with a look of entreaty.

"I approve of that course," he answered; "but what shall they be? Have you anything to suggest?"

"Ah," she sighed, "it goes hard with me to have her disciplined at all; why will she not be good without it, poor, dear child!"

"Let us try reasoning, coaxing, and persuading," suggested Violet, with some hesitation.

"Very well," her grandfather said; "you and your mother may try that to-night. If it fails, tell her that so long as she is rebellious all her time at home must be spent in her own room and alone."

"Dear grandpa," Violet said pleadingly, "that punishment would fall nearly as heavily upon Gracie as upon Lulu; and a better child than Grace is not to be found anywhere."

"Yes, yes, and it is a pity; but I don't see that it can be helped. It is a hard fact that in this sinful world the innocent have very often to suffer with the guilty. You are suffering yourself at this moment, and so is your mother, entirely because of the misconduct of this child and that fiery little Italian."

"Lulu is extremely fond of her little sister," remarked Elsie; "so let us hope the thought of Grace's distress, if separated from her, may lead her to give up her self-will in regard to this matter. Take courage, Vi; all is not lost that is in danger."

Each of the two had a talk with Lulu before she went to bed that night, using all their powers of argument and persuasion; but in vain: she stubbornly persisted in her resolve never again to be taught by Signor Foresti.

Violet was almost in despair. She was alone with the little girl in her dressing-room.

"Lulu," she said, "it will certainly give great distress to your father when he learns that you have become a rebel against grandpa's authority. You seem to love your papa very dearly; how can you bear to pain him so?"

"I am quite sure papa would not order me to take another lesson of a man who has struck me," was the reply, in a half-tremulous tone, which told that the appeal had not failed to touch the child's heart. "I do love my father dearly, dearly, but I can't submit to such insulting treatment; and nothing on earth will make me."

"You are not asked or ordered to do that," Violet answered gently; "the man is to be utterly forbidden to ill-treat you in any way.

"Perhaps I should hardly try to hire you to do right, but I think there is nothing I would refuse you if you will but do as grandpa bids you. What would you like to have which it is in my power to bestow—a new dress? a handsome set of jewelry? books? toys? What will you have?"

"Nothing, thank you," returned Lulu, coldly.

"I will double your pocket-money," was Violet's next offer; but Lulu heard it in silence and with no relaxing of the stubborn determination of her countenance.

"I will do that and give you both dress and jewelry besides," Violet said, with a little hesitation, not feeling sure that she was doing quite right.

Lulu's eyes shone for an instant, but the stubborn look settled down on her face again.

"Mamma Vi, I don't want to be bribed," she said. "If anything at all would induce me to do as you wish and break my word, love for papa and Gracie and Max would do it alone."

Violet sighed. Drawing out her watch, "It is past your bedtime," she said. "Lulu, dear," and she drew the child caressingly toward her, "when you say your prayers to-night will you not ask God to show you the right and help you to do it?"

"Mamma Vi, it can't be right to tell a lie, and what else should I be doing if I went back to Signor Foresti for lessons after I've said over and over that I never would again?"

"Suppose a man has promised to commit murder; should he keep that promise or break it?" asked Violet.

"Break it, of course," replied Lulu; "but this is quite another thing, Mamma Vi."

"I'm not so clear about that," Violet answered seriously. "In the case we have supposed, the promise would be to break the sixth commandment; in yours it is to break the fifth."

"I'm not disobeying papa," asserted Lulu, hotly.

"Are you not?" asked Violet; "did he not bid you obey my grandfather while he is not here to direct you himself?"

"Yes, ma'am," acknowledged Lulu, reluctantly; "but I'm sure he never thought your grandpa would be so unreasonable as to say I must take lessons of a man like Signor Foresti who had struck me: and that when I did not deserve it at all."

"Lulu," said Violet, a little severely, "your father made no reservation. But now good-night," she added in a more affectionate tone.

"I trust you will wake to-morrow morning in a better frame of mind."

"But I won't," muttered Lulu, as she left the room and retired to her own; "I'll not be driven, coaxed, or hired."



CHAPTER XIX.

"For what I will, I will, and there's an end."

SHAKESPEAKE.

Shortly after breakfast the next morning, and before the hour for setting out for school, Elsie called Lulu aside, and in a gentle, affectionate way asked if she were now willing to do as directed by Mr. Dinsmore.

"Grandma Elsie," said the little girl, "I am ready to do anything he bids me if it is not to take lessons of that horrid man who dared to strike me after being told by Grandpa Dinsmore himself that he must never do so."

"I am grieved, my child, that you have no better answer than that to give me," Elsie said, "and I think you know that it will not satisfy my father; he will have those committed to his care obedient in everything; and he bade me tell you that if you will not submit to his authority in this matter—if you do not to-day obey his order to finish that interrupted music-lesson—you must, on returning home, go directly to your own room and stay there; and as long as you continue rebellious, all your time at home is to be spent in that room and alone."

She paused for a reply, but none came. Lulu sat with eyes cast down and cheeks hotly flushing, her countenance expressing anger and stubborn resolve.

Elsie sighed involuntarily.

"Lulu, my dear child," she said, "do not try this contest with my father. I warn you that to do so will only bring you trouble and sorrow; he is a most determined man, and because he feels that he has right on his side in this thing, you will find him unconquerable."

"I think that is what he will find me, Grandma Elsie," replied the determinately self-willed little girl.

"Surely you are showing scant gratitude for the many kindnesses received at my father's hands," Elsie said; "but I will not upbraid you with them. You may go now."

Feeling somewhat ashamed of herself, yet far from prepared to submit, Lulu rose and hastened from the room.

She knew nothing of what had passed between Mr. Dinsmore and Professor Manton after her dismissal the night before, and it was with a quaking heart she entered the schoolroom at Oakdale that morning.

Yet though in fear and dread, she had not the slightest intention of abandoning her position in regard to the music-lessons.

Nothing, however, was said to her on the subject till the hour for meeting the signor. Then Miss Diana directed her to go and finish her lesson of the previous day; but on receiving a refusal, merely remarked that it should be reported to her guardians and her punishment left to them.

Evelyn gave her friend an entreating look, but Lulu shook her head, then fixed her eyes upon her book.

As they drove home to Viamede in the afternoon, Grace was waiting for them on the veranda there.

"Oh, Lulu," she cried, as the latter came up the steps, "mamma has been helping me to fix up my baby-house, and it is so pretty! Do come right up to the play-room and see it."

"I can't, Gracie," Lulu answered, coloring and looking vexed and mortified.

"Why not?" asked Grace in a tone of surprise and keen disappointment.

But before Lulu could reply, Mr. Dinsmore stepped from the door and inquired, "What report have you to give me, Lulu?"

"I have not taken a music-lesson to-day," she answered.

"Were you not told to do so?"

"Yes, sir."

"And did not choose to obey? You know the consequence; you must go immediately to your room and stay there alone during the hours spent at home, until you are ready to obey."

Lulu assumed an air of indifference as she walked slowly away, but Grace burst into tears, crying, "Oh, Grandpa Dinsmore! you won't keep me, her own sister, away from her, will you? oh, please don't. I can't do without her."

"My dear little girl," he said soothingly, and taking her hand in his, "I am truly sorry to distress you so, but Lulu must be made obedient. She is now in a very rebellious mood, and I should do wrong to indulge her in it."

"Grandpa Dinsmore," she said, looking up pleadingly into his face; with the tears streaming over her own, I'd be frightened 'most to death if I had to take lessons of that cross, bad man. How can you want to make poor Lulu do it?"

"Lulu is not the timid little creature you are," he said, bending down to kiss her forehead, "and I am sure is not really afraid of the man; nor need she be after what I have said to him about striking her or any of the pupils I send him."

"It'll be a long, long while before she'll give up," said Grace; "maybe she never will. Mayn't I go and talk to her a little and bid her good-by? You know it's 'most as if she's going far away from us all."

She ended with a sob that quite touched Mr. Dinsmore's heart; also he thought it possible that her grief over the separation from Lulu, and her entreaties to her to be submissive and obedient, might have a good effect. So after a moment's cogitation he granted her request.

"Thank you, sir," said Grace, and hurried upstairs to her sister's door.

"Please, Lu, let me in," she cried. "Grandpa Dinsmore said I might come."

"Did he?" returned Lulu, admitting her. "Well, it must have been altogether for your sake, not a bit for mine; his heart's as hard as stone to me."

"Oh, Lu, dear Lu, don't talk so; do give up, so we won't be separated!" cried Grace, throwing her arms round her sister and giving her a vigorous hug. "I never can do without you; and don't you care to be with me?"

"Of course I do," said Lulu, twinkling away a tear, for they were raining from Grace's eyes now, and her bosom heaving with sobs, "and it's just the cruelest thing that ever was to separate us!"

"But they won't if you'll only give up; and Grandpa Dinsmore says that horrid man sha'n't strike you again."

"Grandpa Dinsmore is an old tyrant!" said Lulu. "Nobody but a tyrant would want to force me to put myself in the way of being again treated in the cruel and insulting way Signor Foresti has treated me once already; and I won't go back to him; no, not if they kill me!"

"But oh, Lu, think of me!" sobbed Grace. "Max can see you and talk with you every day, going and coming in the carriage, but I'm afraid I won't see you at all."

"Oh, Grade, I have a thought!" exclaimed Lulu. "Ask Mamma Vi if you mayn't ride back and forth with us every morning and afternoon. There's room enough in the carriage, and the rides would be good for you. You'd have to ride alone, one way each time, but you wouldn't mind that, would you?"

"Oh no, indeed!" exclaimed Grace, smiling through her tears; "it's a bright thought, Lu. I'll ask mamma, and I'm 'most sure she'll say yes, she's so good and kind."

Violet did say yes at once, making one condition only—that neither her mother nor grandfather should object.

They did not, and every morning and afternoon Grace was ready in good season for her drive to Oakdale.

The other children were glad of her company, and as by common consent always gave her the seat next to Lulu.

For two weeks those short drives yielded the sisters all the intercourse they had. They met with a warm embrace in the morning just before stepping into the carriage, and parted in the same way on their return to Viamede in the afternoon. Then Lulu went directly to her own room, shut herself in, and was seen no more by the other children till the next day.

During that fortnight the confinement and solitude were her only punishment; her meals were brought to her and consisted of whatever she desired from the table where the family were seated; also books and toys were allowed her.

Every night Violet and Elsie, her mother, came, separately, for a few words with the little girl; always kind, gentle, loving words of admonition and entreaty that she would return to her former dutiful and docile behavior. But they were always met by the same stubborn resolve.

At length, one evening she was summoned to Mr. Dinsmore's presence,—in the library as before,—again asked if she were ready to obey, and on answering in the negative was told that, such being the case, she was to be sent to Oakdale as a boarding scholar, and not to return home at all until ready to give up her wilfulness and do as she was bidden.

She heard her sentence with dismay, but resolved to endure it rather than submit.

"I'm not ready to break my word yet, Grandpa Dinsmore," she said with a lofty air; "and perhaps Oakdale won't be a worse prison than those the martyrs went to for conscience' sake."

"Lulu," he said sternly, "do not deceive yourself with the idea that you are suffering for conscience' sake; a wicked promise—a promise to break one of God's commands—is better broken than kept; the sin was in making it."

"I don't know any commandment that says I must take lessons of Signor Foresti, or obey somebody who is no relation to me," returned Lulu, half trembling at her own temerity as she spoke.

"You are an extremely impertinent little girl," said Mr. Dinsmore, "and not altogether honest in pretending such ignorance; you know that you are commanded to obey your father, that he has directed you to be obedient to me in his absence, and that I have ordered you to take lessons of Signor Foresti."

He paused a moment, then went on: "If tomorrow you do as you are ordered you will be at once restored to favor, and all the privileges you formerly enjoyed in this house; otherwise you will not return from Oakdale with the others in the afternoon."

He waved his hand in dismissal, and she left the room full of anger and defiance, a most unhappy child.

In the hall she halted for a moment and glanced toward the outer door. A sudden impulse moved her to run away. But what good would that do? Where could she go? How find shelter, food, clothing? And should she ever see father, brother, sisters again?

She moved on again down the hall, and slowly climbed the broad stairway leading to the one above.

Violet met her there and felt her heart sink as she glanced at the sullen, angry countenance. She stopped, laid her hand kindly on the child's shoulder, and said,

"Lulu, dear, I know pretty well what you have just been told by grandpa, and, my child, it distresses me exceedingly to think of you being sent away from us all."

"You needn't care, Mamma Vi; I don't," interrupted Lulu, angrily. "I'd rather be away from people that ill-treat me so; I only wish I could go thousands of miles from you all, and never, never come back."

"Poor, dear, unhappy child!" Violet said, tears trembling in her beautiful eyes; "I know you cannot be other than miserable while indulging in such wrong feelings. If I have ill-treated you in any way I have not been conscious of it, and am truly sorry, for it is my strong desire to be all that I should to my husband's dear children. Come into my dressing-room and let us have a little talk together about these matters."

She drew Lulu into the room as she spoke, and made her sit down on a sofa by her side.

"No, Mamma Vi, you have never ill-treated me," answered Lulu, her sense of justice asserting itself; "but I think Grandpa Dinsmore has, and so I'd rather go away from him."

"I am sorry you feel so little gratitude to one who has done so much for you, Lulu," Violet said, not unkindly. "Surely you cannot deny that it has been a very great kindness in him to take you into his own family—giving you the best of homes—and instruct you himself, for no reward but the pleasure of doing you good and seeing your improvement: that, too, in spite of having to bear with much ill-behavior from you."

Lulu tried hard to think herself unjustly accused, but in her heart knew very well that every word of Violet's reproof was richly deserved. She made no reply, but hung her head, while a vivid blush suffused her cheeks.

Silence in the room for several minutes; then Lulu said, "I think my bedtime has come, Mamma Vi; may I go now?"

"Yes; good-night," said Violet, bending down to give her a kiss.

Lulu returned both the kiss and the good-night, then rose to leave the room.

"Stay a moment, dear," Violet said in her gentlest, sweetest tone; "I am writing to your father: what shall I say about you?"

"Anything you please," Lulu answered coldly, and walked away with head erect, cheeks aflame, and eyes flashing.

"If she wants to tell tales on me, she may. I shan't try to stop her," she muttered to herself as she went into her own room and closed the door; then sending a glance around upon all the luxury and beauty of the apartment, the thought flashed painfully on her that these things, so delightful to her, would have to be exchanged for others far inferior and less enjoyable; for, of course, no boarding-school room would be furnished at anything like the expense that had been lavished upon this and others in this fine old mansion, so long owned and at times occupied by the possessors of vast wealth joined to refined and cultivated taste.

During the last fortnight, enforced confinement there had sometimes made the room seem like a prison; but now her heart swelled at the thought of leaving it, perhaps never to return, for certainly, unless she became submissive and obedient, she would be kept at the academy at least until the family were ready to leave for Ion.

Then it occurred to her that there were advantages, companionships, luxuries, to be given up, the resigning of which would be still harder. Now that she was to leave them, she found she had grown fond of both her young stepmother and the baby sister of whom she had once been so jealous; and that she loved Grandma Elsie also, Aunt Elsie too; and indeed, that almost every one in the family connection had proved agreeable in such intercourse as she had held with them.

Alas! what a sorry exchange from their society to that of the Mantons, and from all the loving care that had been bestowed upon her and the many privileges accorded her at Ion and Viamede, to the neglect and indifference to be expected from strangers! As she thought of all this she could not contemplate the carrying out of her sentence of banishment to Oakdale with anything like satisfaction.

Yet the idea of submitting to what she considered Mr. Dinsmore's tyranny being still more repugnant to her, she resolved to abide by her decision, risking all consequences.

She rose early the next morning, and busied herself for some time in gathering together such book and toys as she wished to take with her; then seeking her young step-mother, "Mamma Vi," she asked, "am I to pack my trunk myself?"

"You are quite resolved to leave us, then, Lulu?" Violet inquired.

"I am quite resolved never to take another lesson from Signor Foresti," returned Lulu doggedly.

Violet sighed. "I had hoped you would wake this morning in a better mood," she said. "No; you need not pack your trunk: Agnes shall do it under my supervision. But it shall not be sent till the return of the children from school this afternoon, as I still hope to see you with them."

Grace, who was present, stood listening in wide-eyed astonishment.

"What is it all about?" she asked in alarm. "Is Lulu going away?"

"Yes," Lulu answered for herself; "Grandpa Dinsmore says if I won't take lessons of Signor Foresti I must stay at Oakdale as a boarding-scholar."

"O Lu, Lu! do give up and come back home," entreated Grace, bursting into tears; "I can't do without you, you know I can't?"

Lulu drew her aside and whispered words of comfort.

"It can't be for so very long, I think, Grace; because we'll all be going back to Ion in two or three months. Besides, we can see each other every day, if you keep on coming in the carriage as you've been doing."

"But it will be only for a few minutes, and you won't have a bit nice time there."

"No, I suppose, not; but even if it's pretty hard, I'd rather stay there than give up to that old tyrant."

"Please don't say that," pleaded Grace; "I love Grandpa Dinsmore."

When the carriage came to the door after breakfast, and the children trooped down ready for school, Grandma Elsie joined them on the veranda, wishing them a happy and profitable day at their studies; then putting an arm about Lulu she said to her in an undertone,

"Lulu, dear child, I want to see you here with the rest to-night; you are one of my little girls, and I would not have you so rebellious that you must be shut out from my house. There! you need not answer, dear; only remember that Grandma Elsie loves you, and longs to see you good and happy."

"Thank you, ma'am; you're very good and kind," Lulu said a little tremulously, then hurried into the carriage, Max giving her the help of his hand.

The others were already in, and as Max took the only vacant seat, by Lulu's side, he noticed that her face was very red, and that Grace was crying.

"What's the matter?" he asked, glancing from one to the other.

"Lulu's not coming home with us to-night; she's going to board at Oakdale, she says," sobbed Grace.

"Is that so? What for?" asked Max, looking at Lulu.

"Because Grandpa Dinsmore says I must, if I won't take lessons of Signor Foresti."

It was news to Evelyn, Rose, and Walter as well as to Max, they having heard nothing of it before. There was a moment of surprised silence, broken by Rosie:

"Well, you may as well give up. Grandpa is not to be conquered, as I knew when the contest began."

Max and Evelyn were looking much distressed.

"Oh, Lulu, do!" entreated the latter; "you surely have held out long enough,"

"I should think so," said Max; "especially considering how kind Grandpa Dinsmore has been to us all, and that papa ordered us to be obedient to him."

"I'd give up," remarked Walter, "'cause there's no use fighting grandpa. Everybody has to mind him. Even mamma never does anything he asks her not to."

"The idea of not being your own mistress, even when you're a grandmother!" exclaimed Lulu scornfully.

"Mamma is her own mistress," retorted Rose. "It is only that she loves grandpa so dearly, and thinks him so wise and good, that she prefers to do just as he wishes her to."



CHAPTER XX.

"Let come what will, I mean to bear it out."

SHAKESPEARE.

"The hour for your music-lesson has arrived, Miss Raymond," announced Miss Manton.

Rosie and Evelyn both looked entreatingly at Lulu; but scarcely raising her eyes, she simply said, "I shall not take it to-day, Miss Diana."

"Very well; you will have to abide the consequences of your refusal," returned Miss Diana severely.

"Is it so very dreadful to live in this house with you?" queried saucy Lulu.

"What do you mean by that impertinent question?" asked Miss Diana, facing round angrily upon her.

"I only wanted to know in time," said Lulu. "What you said just now sounded as if you thought so; for that is the consequence I'll have to abide if I continue to refuse to take my music-lessons."

"It shall be about as unpleasant as I can well make it, in return for your impudence," was the furious rejoinder. "Also, you will remain in your seat during recess to-day."

"Oh, Lulu," whispered Evelyn at the first opportunity, "it was not prudent to say what you did to Miss Diana; she will have it in her power to make your life here very uncomfortable."

"Yes," Lulu said with indifference, "I expect to have to pay for the pleasure of speaking my mind; but if she makes me uncomfortable, I'll manage to make her so too."

As the hour drew near when the school would be dismissed for the day, a servant came in with a message. She said a few words in a low tone to Miss Diana, who at once turned to Lulu, saying,

"You are wanted in the parlor, Miss Raymond."

The child's heart beat fast as she rose and obeyed the summons, but quieted when, on entering the parlor, she found Elsie and Violet its sole occupants. They had always been gentle and kind to her, and she loved without fearing them.

They made a place for her on the sofa between them, and taking her hand in a kind clasp, Elsie said, "We have come to take you home, dear child, if you are now ready to be good and obedient."

"I didn't take the lesson, Grandma Elsie, and I don't intend ever to do it as long as I live," Lulu answered in even, steady tones. "It was very kind in you and Mamma Vi to come for me, but I shall have to stay here till Grandpa Dinsmore gives up asking such an unreasonable thing of me."

"Then, Violet," Elsie said, "nothing remains for us but to see that she has comfortable accommodations, and leave her here."

At this moment Mrs. Manton came hurrying in with profuse apologies for not having come sooner, but through the negligence of the servant she had been until this moment kept in ignorance of their arrival.

"No, you must not blame the servant," Elsie said; "she acted by my directions. We wished to see this little girl alone for a few minutes, and not to disturb you; knowing that you are busy with your pupils at this hour of the day."

"Ah! then perhaps I am intruding;" and Mrs. Manton drew herself up with dignity.

"Oh no, not at all," Elsie returned pleasantly; "our private interview with the child is at an end. She is now to be placed here as a boarder—as you may perhaps know; and, if you please, we would like to see the room she is to occupy."

"Certainly, Mrs. Travilla. She can have her choice of several—or you the choice for her," Mrs. Manton replied, graciously leading the way as she spoke.

"You would like to come too?" Elsie said inquiringly, holding out a hand to Lulu.

"Yes, ma'am, thank you," Lulu answered, slipping hers into it.

They were shown several large rooms, intended and furnished for from four to six occupants each; two others of somewhat smaller size, which Mrs. Manton called double rooms; and one little one over the hall, which she said Lulu could have to herself, if she liked that better than sharing a larger one with a schoolmate.

To Lulu's eyes it looked uninviting enough: so small, furnished with only one window, a single bed, one chair, bureau and wash-stand of very plain, cheap material, somewhat the worse for wear, and just a strip or two of carpet both faded and worn.

"I think this will hardly do," Violet said gently. "Have you nothing better to offer, Mrs. Manton?"

"No room that the young girl can have to herself," was the cold, half-offended reply. "Excuse me for saying so, but I think it is quite good enough for so obstinate and rebellious a child as I have understood she is."

"I am quite of your opinion, Mrs. Manton," said a familiar voice behind them; and turning, they perceived that they had been joined by Mr. Dinsmore, with Professor Manton bringing up the rear.

Lulu was growing very red and angry.

"But she is my husband's child, grandpa," urged Violet.

"And I am quite certain he would say she deserved nothing better while she continues obstinate in her rebellion against lawful authority," he answered.

Lulu flashed an angry glance at him.

"It is no matter," she said; "papa will set things right when he comes. And, Mamma Vi, don't be troubled about it; I shall tell him it was no fault of yours."

"No," Mr. Dinsmore said, smiling grimly. "I shall not share the responsibility; my shoulders are quite broad enough to bear it all."

Violet drew Lulu aside when they had all gone down stairs again, and with her arm about her waist pleaded tenderly, affectionately, with her to give up her rebellion and go home with them.

"We will start in a few minutes now," she said; "and oh, dear child, I don't want to leave you behind. I shall grieve very much to think of you all alone in that miserable little room. Does it not seem a poor place after those you have had at Ion and Viamede?"

"Yes, Mamma Vi, I have an idea that it's a good deal like a prison-cell; but what do I care for that? I'd despise myself if I could give up just for that."

"No, dear, not for that, but because it is right to do it."

"'Tisn't worth while for you to trouble yourself to urge me any more, Mamma Vi," Lulu said loftily; "I am as fully resolved as ever not to break my word."

"Then good-by," Violet said, with a sigh and a kiss. "You are not to be ill-treated—I settled that question with grandpa before we came; and if any one should attempt to ill-use you, let me know all about it at once."

Elsie, too, kissed Lulu in bidding her good-by; but Mr. Dinsmore simply took her hand,—given with evident reluctance,—and said he was sorry to be compelled to banish her from the family-circle; yet if she willed it so, restoration to the comforts and privileges of home would not be long delayed.

Lulu followed them out to the veranda, expecting to see the family-carriage there with the other children, including her sister Grace, but was sorely disappointed to perceive that it had already driven away.

A smaller one, which had brought Mr. Dinsmore and the ladies, was still there, and she saw them enter, and watched it drive away till it was lost to sight among the trees.

Then a sudden sense of almost utter loneliness came over her, and rushing away to a secluded part of the grounds, she gave vent to her feelings in a storm of tears and sobs.

But by its very violence it soon spent itself; in a few moments she became quite calm, did her best to remove the traces of her tears, and went back to the house, reaching it just as her trunk arrived.

It was carried at once to her room, and she followed to unpack and arrange her clothes in the drawers of the bureau and wash-stand.

There was no closet, and she found herself much cramped for room. It was very disheartening, for she loved neatness and order, and perceived that it would be no easy matter to maintain them here, where it was so difficult to find a place for everything and keep it there.

The supper-bell rang, but she delayed obeying the summons in order to finish the work in hand. She was hardly more than five minutes behind time, yet received a sharp reprimand from Professor Manton, and a black mark.

Of course she was angry and indignant, and plainly showed that she was; not mending matters in the least thereby.

In sullen displeasure she took the seat assigned her, and glancing over the table, was tempted to turn away in disgust.

The food provided was of the plainest, scant in quantity, inferior in quality, and neither well prepared nor daintily served; in all which it presented a striking contrast to the meals that Lulu had been accustomed to sit down to at Ion and Viamede.

She ate but little; in fact, homesickness had nearly destroyed her appetite.

"What a miserable supper!" she remarked to a school-mate, when they had gone from the dining-room and were gathered on the veranda for the short half-hour that intervened between the meal and the evening study-hour.

"It was quite as good as usual," was the rejoinder in a sneering tone. "What did you expect? Do you suppose the Mantons don't want to make anything off us as boarders?"

"I hadn't thought about that at all," Lulu said, with a look of surprise and perplexity. Then after a moment's cogitation, "I suppose they do want to make all they can out of us, and that would be the reason there was so little on the table; but would it have cost any more to have it cooked properly? The bread was both sour and heavy, and the butter so strong that I'd rather go without than eat it."

"Rancid butter is cheaper than sweet, both as costing less and going farther," answered her companion, "and good cooks are apt to be able to command higher wages than poor ones; also, like butter, bread goes farther if it is unpalatable."

"But it makes people sick?" Lulu said, half in assertion, half in inquiry.

"Of course; but the Mantons don't pay our doctor bills, or support us in invalidism if it comes to that."

The girl walked away, and Lulu stood leaning against a pillar, lost in thought, and feeling more homesick than ever.

The boarding-scholars were all some years older than herself, and did not seem to desire her companionship; in fact, they looked upon and treated her as one in disgrace, shunned her society, and almost ignored her existence.

The study-hour over, they gathered in groups, chatting together on such themes as school-girls find most interesting, one or another now and then looking askance at Lulu, who sat at a distance, lonely and forlorn, watching them and half-envying their apparent gayety and lightheartedness.

How she longed for Evelyn, Grace, Max; even Rosie and the grown up-people at Viamede!

It was a long evening to her; she thought the hands of the clock had never before moved so slowly.

At nine a bell called them all into Professor Manton's school-room, where he read a chapter from the Bible, and made a long prayer in a dull, monotonous tone, that set most of his hearers to nodding or indulging in half-suppressed gapes and yawns.

It struck Lulu as a very different service as conducted by him, from what she had been accustomed to under the lead of her father or Mr. Dinsmore. They had always shown by tone and manner that they esteemed it a solemn and a blessed thing to read the words of inspiration and draw near to God in prayer; while this man went through it as a mere matter of form, of no more interest than the calling of the roll at the opening of school.

The service was followed by a formal good-night, and the pupils scattered to their rooms.

"The bell will tap in half an hour, Miss Raymond, and at the first sound every light must be instantly extinguished," Miss Diana said harshly, as she gave Lulu her candle.

"But what if I have not finished undressing?" Lulu asked in dismay.

"Then you will be obliged to finish in the dark."

"There won't be time to write in my diary, and I'll have to say my prayers in the dark," Lulu said to herself as she hastened up the stairs and into her closet-like apartment.

"What a forlorn bit of a place it is!" she grumbled half aloud; "oh, so different from my pretty rooms at Ion and Viamede! Oh dear, oh dear! I wish that horrid Signor Foresti was back in his own country. I'm glad he doesn't live in this house, so I'd have to see him every day; it's bad enough to have to stay here without that. But I don't mean to let Grandpa Dinsmore find out how bad his punishment is; no, nor to be conquered by it either."

She had set down her candle and was hurriedly making ready for bed.

On creeping in, having blown out her candle just as the signal sounded, she discovered a new reason for regretting her change of residence; she must sleep—if she could—on a hard pallet of straw, instead of the soft, springy mattress she had been accustomed to rest upon at home.

She uttered an exclamation of disgust and impatience, fidgeted about in the vain effort to find a comfortable spot, and sighed wearily over the hard hills and hollows.

How Mamma Vi and Grandma Elsie too would pity her! Probably they would say she must have a better bed, even if it had to be sent from Viamede.

But then Grandpa Dinsmore might put his veto upon that, saying, as he had that day in regard to the room, that it was quite as good as she deserved; and she would not give him the chance: she would put up with the hard bed, as well as with all the other disagreeables of the situation, nor give up in the very least about the music-lessons.

The situation seemed no brighter or cheerier the next morning; there was no one to give her a smile, a kiss, or so much as a pleasant word; breakfast was no improvement upon last night's supper; Mrs. Manton scolded all through the meal—at her husband, daughters, pupils, servants; the professor bore it meekly as regarded her, was captious and irritable toward every one else; Miss Diana looked glum, Miss Emily timid and ashamed.

The morning service in the schoolroom, that followed the meal, was very like a repetition of that of the previous evening, and Lulu withdrew from the room after it was over, feeling less respect and liking than ever for the principal of the institution.

To her great joy the Viamede carriage drove up a full half-hour earlier than usual; Grace alighted from it with the others, and running to her said, "O Lulu, I'm so glad to see you! And I may stay till school-time; mamma told me so. Grandma Elsie told Uncle Ben to bring us early, and wait here for me till you go into school."

"It's very kind in them," returned Lulu, hugging and kissing her little sister. "And I'm ever so delighted to see you all," she added to the others who had gathered round her.

"And we to see you," Evelyn said, embracing her.

"What kind of a time have you had?" asked Rosie and Max in a breath.

"About such as I anticipated," answered Lulu, nonchalantly. "Of course it's not like home; but I didn't expect that."

She afterward, under a promise of secrecy, let Evelyn more into her confidence; described her bed, the meals, telling that she had learned from one of the older boarders that those she had partaken of were of average quality; and the unpleasant manners of Professor Manton, his wife, and Miss Diana.

"O Lu, it is quite too bad that you should be exposed to such things!" said Evelyn. "Do give up to Grandpa Dinsmore and go home with us to-night!"

Lulu shook her head decidedly.

"Well then, at least let me tell your mamma, or Grandma Elsie about the hard bed, and they will surely see that a better one is provided for you."

But Lulu negatived that also. "I can stand it," she said, "and I wouldn't for a great deal let Grandpa Dinsmore know what a hard time I am having. He would triumph over me, and say it was just what I deserved."

So no complaint was made, and Evelyn was the only person at Viamede who had any idea of the many discomforts Lulu was enduring for self-will's sake.

Sunday morning came and Lulu made herself ready for church, all the time fearing that she would have to go with the Mantons and sit with them and their other boarding-scholars.

Great, then, was her joy on seeing Max drive up in a light two-seated carriage, Violet and Grace on the back seat, a vacant space on the front beside the young charioteer.

"Oh, they've come for me!" cried Lulu, half aloud, glancing from the window of her room. "How nice is Mamma Vi to do it!" and she flew down to the front door to greet them.

The professor was there before her, bowing, smirking, and asking in his most obsequious tones if Mrs. Raymond would be pleased to alight and walk into the parlor.

"Thank you, no," Violet said. "We have come merely to pick up Lulu and take her to church with us. Come, dear," to the little girl; "the professor will help you in, if you are quite ready to go."

"Yes, Mamma Vi," Lulu answered eagerly, and with the aid of the professor's hand quickly climbed to her place.

"Mamma Vi, you are very good," she said, as the carriage rolled on again.

"Yes, isn't she?" said Max. "She says she isn't at all afraid to trust me to drive her."

"No," said Violet, smiling affectionately on him; "you do great credit to Uncle Ben's teaching. I think your father would be much pleased with your proficiency."

"Were you expecting us, Lulu?" asked Grace.

"No, indeed! How should I, when nothing had been said about it? But oh, I was so glad to see you coming."

The children seemed happy in being together again and chatted cheerily, Violet occasionally joining in.

She had fully gained their respect and affection, yet they now never felt her presence the slightest damper upon their enjoyment of each other's society.

On their return, while yet at some little distance from the academy, Violet asked,

"Lulu, dear, do you find yourself quite comfortable and happy at Oakdale—so that you wish to continue there as a boarder?"

"I wish that rather than to go home again on Grandpa Dinsmore's conditions," Lulu said with a frown, and with that the subject was dropped.



CHAPTER XXI.

"Woes cluster; rare are solitary woes: They love a train, they tread each other's heel."

YOUNG.

For a number of weeks events moved on their even course at Viamede; they were all well and happy, though Lulu's continued obstinacy caused most of them more or less mental disquietude.

She still remained at Oakdale, making no complaint to any one but Evelyn of her fare or accommodations, and was studious and well-behaved in every respect, except that she steadily refused to have anything whatever to do with Signor Foresti.

She had attended church regularly with the family, had seen them all occasionally on weekdays, but had not been once permitted to visit Viamede, Magnolia Hall, or the parsonage.

If either she or Mr. Dinsmore regretted having begun the struggle which now appeared so interminable, no one else was aware of the fact.

Grace had kept up her habit of driving over to Oakdale every morning and afternoon, and the pleasure of seeing her so often had helped Lulu greatly in the endurance of her exile, as had also her daily intercourse with Max, Evelyn, and Rosie.

But one morning in March they came without Grace, and all looking grave and troubled.

"Where's Gracie? Why didn't she come?" asked Lulu, with a vague feeling of uneasiness.

"She's sick," Max answered, trying to swallow a lump in his throat, and keep the tears from coming into his eyes; "and so is the baby, and the doctor—Cousin Dick Percival—says they both have the scarlet-fever in almost its worst form."

Lulu, who knew something of the deadly nature of the disease, stood speechless with surprise and dismay; the other two girls were crying now.

Presently Lulu burst out vehemently, "I must go home! I will go! It's the cruelest thing in the world to keep me away from my darling Gracie when she's so sick and may be going to—oh, I can't say it! I can't bear to think it!" and she began sobbing as if her heart would break.

Evelyn put an arm about her.

"Lu, dear Lu, don't be so distressed. The doctor has not said that either case is hopeless; and they may both get well."

"The dear baby, too!" sobbed Lulu; "oh I do love her, she is such a darling!"

"Indeed she is," said Max, vainly trying to steady his tones; "and it's hard to see her suffer. Gracie, too—she's so sweet and patient, and so good. I heard some of the old servants talking together this morning about her, saying she was just like a little angel, and too good to live; and—and I'm afraid she is."

He quite broke down with the last word.

"No, she ain't," cried Rosie; "she's just as good as they think her, but good children are not any more likely to die than bad ones. Everybody that knew mamma when she was a child says she was as good as she could be, and see how long she has lived."

"That's true, and I'm obliged to you for reminding me of it, Rosie," said Max, looking slightly relieved.

"But I must go home," repeated Lulu; "Gracie is sure to be wanting me, and I can't stay away from her."

"No," the others said; "none of us are allowed to go into the room for fear of the contagion. Indeed, we're not to go back to Viamede, but to stay at either Magnolia Hall or the parsonage till the danger is over."

"Mamma and Violet are nursing the sick ones, with the help of old Aunt Phillis," said Rosie. "Sister Elsie has gone to the parsonage with little Ned, and she and Isa will have to keep away from Viamede on account of their babies; so will Cousin Molly.

"Grandpa telegraphed for Cousin Arthur this morning, because we know he is a skilful physician, and Gracie is begging for her own doctor."

"I'm glad: I hope he'll come quickly," said Lulu. "And oh, how I wish papa was here!"

"Yes; we always want papa when we're in trouble," said Max; "we can't help feeling as if he could help us somehow. But perhaps it's a very good thing that he's not here just now to see the children suffer."

"Oh, are they suffering very much?" Lulu asked tearfully.

"Yes," answered Rosie; "mamma told me they were both very ill: Gracie especially—her head aching badly, her throat distressingly sore, and her fever very high; but that she was sweetly patient under it all."

"I'm not surprised to hear that," sobbed Lulu; "for she always was patient and good; never a bit like me. Oh, it is so hard that I can't be with her."

They were standing together in a little group on the veranda while they talked, and the agitation in their faces and voices had attracted attention from scholars and teachers who happened to be within sight and hearing.

Miss Emily now drew near, and asked in a kindly, sympathetic tone what was the matter.

Rosie answered, telling briefly of the serious illness of the two little sisters of Max and Lulu.

"Ah! I am extremely sorry," Miss Emily said. "You will find it difficult to give your minds to your lessons under such trying circumstances; but I will go to my father and the others, and ask that you may be excused if your recitations should be imperfect to-day,"

"That was a kind thought," said Max, as she went into the house. "She's much the best and kindest of the family."

The ensuing week was one of great sorrow and anxiety to Violet, scarcely less so to her mother; for the children were so dangerously ill that it was greatly feared both would succumb to the power of the disease.

It was a time of sore trial, but it brought out in strong relief the beauty and nobility of character in both Violet and her mother. They proved themselves the most devoted of nurses, patient, cheerful, hopeful, never giving way to despondency, or wearying in efforts to relieve the little sufferers or wile them into forgetfulness of their pain.

Till the crisis was past they watched over them day and night, aided by Drs. Conly and Percival.

Arthur had obeyed the summons with all possible dispatch, approved of what Dick was doing, and joined him in the care of the little patients. One or the other was always close at hand.

"This is a sad, anxious time for you, my dear Vi," Elsie said one evening as they sat together in the sick-room—Violet with her almost dying babe on her lap, while Grace lay on the bed in an equally critical condition; "but you are bearing up bravely."

"Dear mamma, you help me very much in so doing," Violet said, low and tremulously; "so do Arthur and Dick. But best of all, 'underneath are the everlasting arms.' O mamma, it seems as if my heart must break if either of the children is taken, and I may be called to part with both—and their father, my dear, dear husband, so far away."

She paused, overcome by her emotions.

"'God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble,'" her mother whispered, with a tenderly sympathetic look. "'He will never leave nor forsake you, dear child.'"

"No, mamma; my heart is constantly saying to Him,

'I have called thee Abba, Father! I have stayed my heart on thee; Storms may howl and clouds may gather— All must work for good to me.'"

"Yes, dear child," Elsie said with emotion, "'we know that all things work together for good to them that love God.'"

"And my baby is so young, Gracie such a dear little Christian child, that, if I must give them up, I shall know that they are safe—

'Safe in the arms of Jesus, Safe on His gentle breast.'"

Grace, whom they had deemed quite unconscious, opened her eyes and fixed them on Violet's face with a look of ardent affection.

"Yes, mamma," she said feebly, "I'm not afraid to die; because I know that Jesus loves me. My head aches; I'd like to lay it down on His breast. And—He'll comfort you and papa, and—the rest."

Violet could not speak for weeping, but Elsie bent over the child, and tenderly smoothing her pillow, said, "Yes, darling, He will; and whether we live or die, we are all His, and we know that He will do what is best for each one of us."

Grace dropped asleep again almost immediately, and Elsie resumed her seat by her daughter's side.

"Oh," murmured Violet, "dearly as I love Gracie, I should far rather see her go than Lulu, because I am sure she is ready for the change; and I know their father would feel so too. Mamma, how long it is since I have heard from him! I begin to feel very anxious. Ah, what comfort and support his presence would be to me now!"

"Yes, dearest; but console yourself with the thought of how much anxiety and distress he is spared by his ignorance of the critical condition of these little ones. We may be able in a few days to write that they are better—out of danger, with careful nursing, so that the news of their convalescence will reach him at the same time with that of their severe illness."

"Yes, mamma, there is comfort in that," Violet said, smiling through her tears.

On going down to breakfast the next morning Elsie found her father seated at the table, with the morning paper before him. He glanced up at her as she came in, and something in his expression of countenance set her heart to throbbing wildly.

"Oh, papa, what is wrong?" she asked. "My boys? have you?—is there bad news of them?" and she dropped into a chair, trembling in every limb.

"No, no, daughter," he hastened to say. "I think they are all right; here are letters from all three," pointing to a pile on the table before him.

She drew a long breath of relief; then with another glance at his face, "But what is wrong? certainly something is distressing you greatly. And mamma is shedding tears," as she saw Rose furtively lift her handkerchief to her eyes.

"Yes," he sighed, "something is wrong; and not to keep you in suspense—it is a report that Captain Raymond is lost. It is now some weeks since his vessel should have been heard from, and it is greatly feared that she has gone down with all on board."

"Vi! oh, my poor Vi!" gasped Elsie; "her heart will be overwhelmed: we must keep it from her as long as we can; at least till the children are better."

"Certainly," Mr. Dinsmore said, "my dear child," going to Elsie and taking her hand in his in tender, fatherly fashion. "Remember it is only a report,—or rather a conjecture,—which may be without any foundation in fact. The captain may be alive and well at this moment."

A slight sound caused them all—Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore and Elsie—to look toward the door opening into the hall.

Max stood there with a face from which every vestige of color had fled, his features quivering with emotion.

"What—what is it about, papa?" he asked hoarsely. "Oh, Grandpa Dinsmore, Grandma Elsie, don't hide it from me! I must know!"

"Max, my boy, how came you here?" Mr. Dinsmore asked in a kindly pitying tone, going to the lad and making him sit down, while he took a glass of water from the table and held it to his lips.

Max put it aside. "My father?—what about my father?"

His tone was full of agonized inquiry, and Mr. Dinsmore saw the question was not to be evaded.

"My poor fellow," he said, "I am truly sorry you should be distressed by hearing what is as yet only a rumor: fears are reported that your father's vessel is lost; but nothing is known certainly yet, and we must hope for the best."

For a moment the boy seemed utterly stunned; then, "I don't believe it! I won't believe it!" he exclaimed. "We can't do without him; and God wouldn't take him from us. Would He, Grandma Elsie?" and his eyes sought hers with a look of anguished entreaty that she knew not how to withstand.

"My dear Max, I trust we shall have better news to-morrow," she said tenderly; "but whatever comes, we know that all things work together for good to them that love God. He is our kind, Heavenly Father, who loves us with far more than an earthly parent's love, and will let no real evil befall any of His children."

"Yes, and—oh, I'm sure it couldn't be good for Lulu and me to be without our father to help us to grow up right."

No one present thought it necessary to combat that idea, or show that it might be a mistaken one, since it seemed to afford some comfort to the boy.

"We will hope for the best, Max; so do not let possibilities distress you," Mr. Dinsmore said kindly. "Come to the table now, and take some breakfast with us."

"Thank you, sir; but I couldn't eat," returned Max brokenly. "Grandma Elsie, how are Gracie and baby?"

"I'm afraid no better, Max," she said in faltering tones; "the crisis of the disease has not yet come; but in regard to them also we must try to hope for the best. Indeed, whatever the result, we shall know it is for the best," she added with tears in her soft, sweet eyes, "because 'He doeth all things well.'"

It was Saturday, and there was no school; but Max had promised Lulu that he would go over to Oakdale after breakfast and carry her the news in regard to the sick children.

She was extremely anxious and distressed about them, and as soon as at liberty to follow her inclination, hastened to a part of the grounds overlooking the road by which he must come.

She had not been there long when she saw him approaching, walking slowly, dejectedly along, with his eyes on the ground.

"Oh, they are no better," she said to herself; "for if they were better, Max wouldn't hang his head like that."

She stood still, watching him with a sinking heart as he came in at the gate and drew near her, still with his eyes cast down. And now she perceived that his countenance was pale and distressed.

"O Max," she cried, "are they worse?—dying? Oh, don't say they are!"

"No; they are no better: perhaps they may be to-morrow; but—"

He stopped, his eyes full of tears as he lifted them for a moment to her face, his features working with emotion.

"Max, Max, what is it?" she asked, clutching at his arm. "Oh, what is the matter? You must tell me."

"My father—our father—" He covered his face with his hands and sobbed aloud.

"O Max, what about papa?" she cried wildly. "Oh, don't say anything has happened to him! I couldn't bear it!—oh I couldn't!—but I must know. O Maxie, tell me what it is?"

She had put her arms round his neck and laid her cheek to his. He returned the embrace, hugging her tightly to his breast.

"It mayn't be true, Lu," he said brokenly; "but oh, I'm afraid it is: they say it's feared his ship has gone down with all on board."

"Gone down?" she repeated in a dazed tone, as if unable to believe in the possibility of so terrible a disaster. "Gone down?"

"Yes, in the sea—the dreadful sea! O Lu, shall we ever see our father again in this world?"

"Do you mean that papa is drowned? Oh, I can't, I won't have it so! He'll come back again, Max—he surely will! I couldn't live without him, and neither could you, or Gracie; but oh maybe she will die too! And I'm afraid it's because I'm so bad; God is taking away everybody I love, because I don't deserve to have them. I've been disobeying my father by not doing as Grandpa Dinsmore bade me; and now maybe I haven't any father to obey! Oh, Max, Max, what shall I do? everybody's being taken away!"

"I'm left, Lu," he said, brushing away a tear; "I'm left to you, and you're left to me; and we don't know certainly yet, that anybody is really taken from us, or going to be."

"Oh," she cried lifting her head, which had dropped upon his shoulder as he held her closely clasped in his arms, "I'll stop being so bad; I'll be good and do as Grandpa Dinsmore has ordered me, and maybe God will forgive me and spare papa and Gracie and the baby. Do you think he will, Max?"

"Perhaps; you remember how ill papa was when you were obstinate and disobedient to him once before, and you gave up and did as he bade you, and we all prayed for papa and he got well?"

"Yes, oh yes, I'll do it now, this minute; I can't go to Viamede to tell Grandpa Dinsmore, but I'll write a little note, Max, and you can carry it to him."

"I have a note-book in my pocket, pencil too," he said, pulling them out in haste to get the thing done, lest her mood should change. "I'll tear out a leaf and you can write on that. Grandpa Dinsmore won't mind what kind of paper it is so the words are there."

He led the way to a rustic seat, tore out the leaf, spread it on the cover of the book and handed that and the pencil to her.

"I needn't say much—need I, Max?" she asked, looking at him through tear-dimmed eyes.

"No; just the few words you would say if he were here beside you."

"I can't write nicely, my hand trembles so, and I can hardly see," she sobbed, taking out her handkerchief and wiping away the fast-falling tears."

"Never mind; I know he won't care how it looks; he'll know why you couldn't do better."

Thus encouraged, Lulu wrote with trembling fingers:

"Grandpa Dinsmore, I'm sorry for having been so naughty, obstinate, and disobedient. Please forgive me, and I will do whatever you bid me; even if you still say I must take lessons again of Signor Foresti."

She signed her name in full, and handing it to Max, asked,

"Will that do?"

"Yes; I'm sure it will; and I'm ever so glad you've done it at last, Lu."

"But, oh! Max, how can I go back to that horrid man after I've said so many times that I never would?"

She seemed inclined to snatch the note out of his hand, but he stepped back quickly out of reach, hastily deposited it in the note-book, and that in his pocket.

"Don't repent of doing right, Lu," he said. "Think that you may be averting sorrow and bereavement. I think I'd better go now, before you change your mind."

"Oh no, don't, Max," she entreated; "I'm so lonesome without you; let us keep together and comfort each other."

Max yielded, and they sat down again side by side.

Just then one of the school-girls came flying down the walk toward them, crying out half-breathlessly as she drew near, "Lu Raymond, don't you want to hear the news?"

"What is it?" Lulu asked indifferently. "Something you'll be glad to hear. You know the spring term closes next week; well, it seems that the time of Signor Foresti's engagement here expires with it, and, as he has been offered a higher salary elsewhere, he refuses to renew the contract with Professor Manton. I overheard their talk; something was said about you, and the signor remarked in a passionate tone that you had already missed your last chance to take another lesson of him, or even to finish that interrupted one. Now, aren't you glad?"

"Yes," Lulu said, a momentary flash of joy illuminating her countenance, but only to be instantly replaced by the very sad and anxious expression it had worn before.

"Oh, Max, will Grandpa Dinsmore think I—?"

"No," interrupted Max, "I'll tell him all about it; and he knows you're honest as the day. Why," turning his head at the sound of approaching wheels, "there's Grandpa Dinsmore now! I'll run and tell him, Lu;" and, without waiting for a reply, he sprang up and went.

"What's he going to tell?" asked the girl who had brought the news about Signor Foresti.

"That's our private affair," replied Lulu, coloring.

"Oh! is it indeed?" and she walked off with an offended air.

Lulu was too much agitated by contending emotions to care whether she had given offence or not. She sat still, watching from afar the interview between Mr. Dinsmore and Max. She saw the latter hand her note to the former, who took it with a pleased look, read it, said something to Max, then alighted and came toward her, Max accompanying him.

She watched their approach in some agitation, and noticed that Max seemed to be talking fast and earnestly as they moved slowly onward.

At length they were close beside her.

She rose with a respectful "Good-morning, Grandpa Dinsmore," and, taking her hand in his, he bent down and kissed her, saying, "I am very glad, my dear, to be able to take you back into favor." Then he sat down on one side of her, Max on the other.



CHPTER XXII.

SKIES BRIGHTEN.

"Oh, Grandpa Dinsmore!" cried Lulu, with a burst of sobs and tears, "do you think it's true that—that papa's ship is lost?"

"I hope it is not," he said, "such reports have often proved false. So do not grieve too much over it: it is never wise to break our hearts over possibilities."

"But I know you and Max cannot help feeling anxious about both your father and your little sisters; and that being the case, I do not think you can study to any profit; and as the term has so nearly expired, I shall, if you wish it, take you away from here at once.

"Not to Viamede, of course, but to Magnolia Hall, Mr. and Mrs. Embury having sent you a warm invitation to make their house your home for the present. What do you say to my proposition?"

"Oh, Grandpa Dinsmore, how nice and kind is Cousin Molly and her husband!" exclaimed Lulu. "I shall be, oh, so glad to go away from, here, especially to such a lovely home as theirs."

"Very well, then," he said with a smile, "go and gather up your belongings, while I settle matters with Professor Manton; then I will drive you both over to Magnolia Hall, for Max is included in the invitation."

Lulu needed no second bidding, but started up at once to obey.

"I'll go with you, sis, and help you pack, if you like," said Max. The offer was accepted gladly; and as Mr. Dinsmore's business with the professor would take him to the house, all three walked thither together.

An hour later the children had bidden a final good-by to Oakdale, and were on their way to Magnolia Hall.

Arrived there, they received a warm welcome, and Lulu was greatly pleased to find Evelyn a guest also, and that they were to share the same room.

"Oh, Eva!" she cried, "I'm delighted that you are here; but I thought you were staying at the parsonage."

"So I was," Evelyn said, "and Rosie was here; but we have exchanged; she and Walter have gone to visit Cousin Isa, while you, Max, and I let Cousin Molly entertain us in her turn. I find it delightful at both places."

"But oh, Lu, how you have been crying! Is it about the sick little sisters?"

"Partly," Lulu answered, hardly able to speak for emotion, "for they are still in great danger; but oh, much worse than that! they say—that—that it's feared papa's ship is lost with—all on board. Oh, Eva, I've been so disobedient to my father for months past, and now—I'm afraid I'll never, never see him again!"

Before she had finished her sentence, Evelyn's arms were around her, holding her close, while she wept with her.

"I can feel for you, dear," she sobbed, "for I know only too well how dreadful it is to be fatherless; but it is only a report, which may be false. Do try to hope for the best. We will both pray for your dear father, if he is still living; and for the little ones, that they may get well."

After her long trial of the privations to be endured at Oakdale Academy, Lulu greatly enjoyed the comforts and luxuries of Magnolia Hall; yet the suspense in regard to her father and little sisters was very hard to bear.

For two days longer there was no relief from that, but on the morning of the third, Max came bounding in on his return from Viamede, where he had been to make his usual inquiries about Grace and the baby, his face glowing with happiness.

"Oh, Lulu, good, good news!" he cried, tossing up his cap and capering about in the exuberance of his joy; "the children are considered out of danger if well taken care of—and we know they'll be that; and papa's ship has been heard from, all well on board; and we'll see him again, I do believe; perhaps before a great while!"

Lulu wept for joy. "Oh, I am so glad, so happy!" she sobbed; "but oh, how I do want to see papa! the children too. Can't I go to them now, Max?"

"No, not yet; they wouldn't let me go into the wing where they are. I mean the doctors wouldn't; because the danger of contagion is not over, and won't be for a week or more."

"So long to wait?" she sighed.

"Yes," Max said, "but we ought to wait very patiently, now that we have had such glorious news. And perhaps there'll be letters from papa by to-morrow."

His hope was fulfilled: the next morning's mail brought letters from Captain Raymond to his wife and each of his children—the baby, of course, excepted.

Max handed Lulu hers.

She almost snatched it from him in her joy and eagerness, and hurried with it to her room, where she could be quite alone at this hour, Evelyn being at school; for she was finishing out the term, not having the same reason for leaving before its close that Max and Lulu had.

But now that she held the precious, longed-for missive in her hand, Lulu could scarce find courage to open and read it; because she had good reason to expect a severe reprimand from the father, whom, in spite of their mutual love, she had been persistently disobeying for the last three months. She would have given much to recall that past, and feel herself deserving of his commendation and such words of tender fatherly affection as he had often addressed to her by both tongue and pen.

At last she tore open the envelope, spread out the sheet, and with burning cheeks and fast beating heart, read:

"My dear little daughter; my heart misgives me that there is something very much amiss with you. Not sickness, for your mamma, Max, and Gracie all make casual mention of you, and say directly that you are well; yet I have not seen a stroke of your pen for three months or more.

"Your little letters, so full of 'love to papa,' have been very sweet to me, so that I am loath to have them discontinued; but in addition to that, daughter, I have, as you know, directed you to constantly report to me your progress in your studies, your conduct, etc., and in failing to do so you have been guilty of positive disobedience. What excuse have you to offer for such disregard of your father's commands?

"I cannot think there is any that will at all exonerate you from blame. Now I bid you write at once, giving me as full and detailed a report of the past three months as you possibly can.

"My child, I love you very dearly; there is never a day, I believe never a waking hour, in which my heart does not go out in love to my darling Lulu, and send up a petition to a throne of grace on her behalf. I think there is no sacrifice I would not willingly make for the good of any one of my dear children, and my requirements are all meant to promote their welfare and happiness in this world and the next.

"My child, my dear, dear child, your father's heart bleeds for you when he thinks what a hard battle you have to fight with the evil nature inherited from him!

"But the battle must be fought, the victory won, if you would reach heaven at last.

"'The kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the violent take it by force.'

"You have a strong will, my Lulu: make good use of it by determining that you will in spite of every hindrance, fight the good fight of faith and lay hold on eternal life; that you will win the victory over your besetting sins, and come off more than conqueror through Him that loved us.

"I can hardly hope to hear that you have not been again in sad trouble and disgrace through the indulgence of your wilful, passionate temper, and you will dislike very much to confess it all to me; you will be sorry to pain me by the story of your wrong-doing; and certainly it will give me much pain: yet I am more than willing to bear that for my dear child's sake; and as I have given you the order to tell me all, to refrain from so doing would be but a fresh act of disobedience.

"How glad I am to know that my little daughter is open and honest as the day! I repeat, write at once, a full report, to your loving father, LEVIS RAYMOND."

"Oh," cried Lulu, speaking aloud in the excitement of feeling, "I do wish papa wouldn't make me confess everything to him! I think it's dreadfully hard! And what's the use when it hurts him so to hear it?

"And I'm sure it hurts me to tell it. I'll have to, though, and I won't keep anything back, though I'm terribly afraid he'll write that I must be sent away to some boarding-school, so that Grandpa Dinsmore won't be bothered with me any more. Oh dear! if papa could only come home, I'd rather take the hardest whipping he could give me, for though that's dreadful while it lasts, it's soon over. But he can't come now; they wouldn't think of letting him come home again so soon; so he can't punish me in that way; and I wouldn't take it from anybody else," she added, with hotly flushing cheeks and flashing eyes; "and I don't believe he'd let anybody else do it."

She turned to his letter and gave it a second reading.

"How kind and loving papa is!" she said to herself, penitent tears springing to her eyes, "It's plain he hasn't been told a word about my badness—by Grandpa Dinsmore or Mamma Vi, or anybody else. That was good in them.

"But now I must tell it all myself; he says for me to do it at once, and I won't go on disobeying him by waiting; besides, I may as well have it over."

Her writing-desk stood on a table near at hand, and opening it, she set to work without delay.

She began with a truthful report of her efforts to escape becoming one of Signor Foresti's pupils and its failure; giving verbatim the conversations on the subject in which she had taken part; then described with equal faithfulness all that had passed between the signor and herself on the day of their collision, and all that followed in the school-room and at Viamede.

She told of the fortnight in which all her time at home had to be spent in the confinement of her own room, then of the long weeks passed as a boarding-scholar at Oakdale Academy, describing her bedroom there, the sort of meals served in the dining-room, the rules that she found so irksome, and the treatment received at the hands of teachers and fellow-boarders; repeating as she went along every conversation that she felt belonged to the confession required of her.

But the long story was not all told in that one day; it took several; for Lulu was too young and inexperienced in composition and penmanship to make very rapid work of it.

Evelyn was taken into her confidence, Capt. Raymond's letter read to her, then parts of the confession as it progressed from day to day, till she had heard the whole.

"Do you think I have told papa everything I ought, Eva?" Lulu asked when she had finished reading aloud the last page of her report.

"Yes; I can't see that you've kept back a single thing: I'm sure your father is right in saying that you are open and honest as the day! And Oh, Lulu! what a nice, good father he must be! I don't wonder his children all love him so dearly, or that you and Max were so distressed when that bad news came."

"No," Lulu said, hastily brushing away a tear, "but I am sure you must wonder how I can ever be disobedient to such a dear father; and I often wonder too, and just hate myself for it.

"Now my report is ready; I'm glad it's done; it seems an immense load off my mind; but I must write a little note to go with it."

"Of course you must," said Evelyn; "and I'll run away and talk to Cousin Molly while you do it."

She hastened from the room, and Lulu's pen was again set to work.

"My own dear, dear papa, I have your letter—such a nice, kind one to be written to such a bad, disobedient girl: it came last Wednesday, and this is Saturday; for though I did obey you about the report, by beginning at once to write it, I had to make it so long that I couldn't finish it till now.

"I have tried to tell 'the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,' and Eva thinks I have succeeded.

"Papa, I am really and truly sorry for having been so disobedient and obstinate; passionate, too; but I'm always being naughty and then sorry, then naughty again.

"I don't see how you can keep on loving such a bad child; but oh, I'm so glad you do! Though it makes me sorrier than ever, and oh, so ashamed! I know I deserve punishment at your hands, and I have no doubt you would inflict it if you were here. I'm afraid you will say I must be sent away to a boarding-school; but oh, dear papa, please don't. I do intend to be good, and not give any trouble to Grandpa Dinsmore or any of the rest. I think I was the first part of the winter, and would have been all the time if they hadn't forced me to take lessons of that horrid man.

"Papa, I've always thought you wouldn't have said I must go back to him after he struck me. Would you? And don't you think Grandpa Dinsmore was very hard on me to say I must? I don't think anybody but my father has any right to punish me in that way, and I don't believe you would say he had.

"Dear papa, won't you please write soon again and say that you forgive me?"

But we will not give the whole of Lulu's letter to her father. She had something to say of her own and Max's distress over the report that his vessel was supposed to be lost, of the sickness of the dear little sisters, the pleasant time she was having at Magnolia Hall, etc.

The letter and report together made quite a bulky package; Mr. Embury—not being in the secret of the report—laughed when he saw it, remarking that "she must be a famous letter-writer for so young a one." Lulu rejoiced when it was fairly on its way to her father, yet could not altogether banish a feeling of anxiety in regard to the nature of the reply he would send her.

Grace and Baby Elsie improved steadily till they were quite well and past the danger of a relapse.

All the members of the Viamede family gathered there again as soon as the physicians pronounced it entirely safe to do so; and a week or two later, when the little ones seemed quite strong enough for the journey, they all set out on their return to Ion, where they arrived in safety and health; received a joyful welcome from Edward, Zoe, other relatives and friends gathered for the occasion, the servants and numerous dependants, and found their own hearts filled with gladness in the consciousness of being again in their best-loved home.

THE END.