is a
little--b-a-s-h-f-u-l'--Marie, what does b-a-s-h-f-u-l spell?"
shrilled the eager voice. It was a new word.

Marie came over to the Child's chair. "How can I tell without I see
it?" she said. But the Child drew away gently.

"This is a very intimate letter--you'll have to 'xcuse seeing it.
Never mind, anyway, thank you,--I can guess it." And she guessed
that it spelled the way she would feel when she called for her father
at half-past seven, for the Child was a little bashful, too. She told
the Lady so.

"I don't _dread_ it; I just wish it was over," she explained. "It
makes me feel a little queer, you see. Probably you wouldn't feel
that way if you was better acquainted with a person. Fathers and
mothers are kind of strangers."

She was ready at seven o'clock, and sat, a little patient statue,
watching the nursery clock. Marie, who had planned to go out and had
intended setting the hands of the clock ahead a little, was
unwarrantably angry with the Child for sitting there so persistently.
"Come," she said, impatiently; "I've got your night-gown ready. This
clock's too slow."

"Truly, is it?" the Child questioned, anxiously. "Slow means it's
'most half-past, doesn't it? Then I ought to be going!"

"Yes,--come along;" but Marie meant to bed, and the Child was already
on her way to her father. She hurried back on second thought to
explain to Marie.

"I've engaged somebody--there's somebody else going to put me to bed
to-night. You needn't wait, Marie," she said, her voice oddly subdued
and like some other little girl's voice in her repressed excitement.

He was waiting for her. He had been ready since half-past six
o'clock. Without a word--with only an odd little smile that set the
Child at ease--he took her hand and went back with her. The door of
the other writing-room was ajar, and they caught a glimpse as they
went by of a slender, stooping figure. It did not turn.

"This is my room," the Child introduced, gayly. The worst was over
now and all the rest was best. "You've never been in my room before,
have you? This is where I keep my clothes, and this is my
undressing-chair. This is where Marie sits--you're Marie to-night!"
The Child's voice rang out in sudden, sweet laughter. It was such a
funny idea! She was not a laughing Child, and the little, rippling
sound had the effect of escaping from imprisonment and exulting at
its freedom.

"You never unbuttoned a little girl before, did you? I'll have t