u, running to him, and taking hold
of his hand.

"Let me hear about it," he said, sitting down, and allowing Lulu to take
possession of one knee, Gracie of the other; "but speak one at a time.
Max, you are the eldest: we will let you have the first turn."

Violet sat quietly listening, and watching her husband's face, while the
eager children told their tale, and expressed their wishes.

He looked grave and thoughtful; and before he spoke, she had a tolerably
correct idea what he was about to say.

"I am glad my little Gracie does not care to go," he said, caressing the
child as he spoke, "because she is too feeble and too young to be so
long among comparative strangers, without papa or mamma to take care of
her. I am sorry Lulu does want to accept the invitation, as there is an
insuperable objection to letting her do so."

Lulu's countenance had assumed an expression of woful disappointment not
unmingled with anger and wilfulness.

"I want to go, papa, and I do think you might let me," she said with an
ominous frown. "I'm not sickly, and I'm a good deal older than Gracie."

"You cannot go, Lucilla," he said gravely, and with some sternness of
tone. "Max," in answer to the eagerly questioning look in the lad's
eyes, "if you are particularly desirous to go, you have my permission."

"Thank you, sir," said the boy heartily.

"Papa, why can't I go?" grumbled Lulu.

"I think a moment's reflection will tell you why," he answered. "I will
talk with you about it at another time. And now not another word on the
subject till I mention it to you first."

Lulu was silenced for the time; but after tea, going into the library,
and finding her father sitting there alone, she went up to him, and in
her most coaxing tones said, "O papa! won't you _please_ let me go? I'll
be"--

"Lulu," he interrupted sternly, "go immediately to your room and your
bed."

"Papa, it isn't my bedtime for two hours yet," she said, in a half
pleading tone, "and I want to read this new 'Companion' that has just
come."

"Don't let me have to repeat my order," was the stern rejoinder; and she
obeyed, trembling and in haste.

She felt sorely disappointed, angry, and rebellious; but, as her father
had said, a few moments' reflection showed her the reason of his refusal
to allow her to accept the invitation to the Oaks: and, as she glanced
round her rooms at the many pretty things his indulgent kindness had
supplied, her anger changed to peniten