and a spoiled
child; and, oh, if she could only try it over again, how differently
she would do! And there was a lot more. I told everything--everything
I could remember. Some way, I didn't believe that Mother would mind
_now_, after what Father had said. And I just knew she wouldn't mind
if she could see the look in Father's eyes as I talked.

He didn't interrupt me--not long interruptions. He did speak out a
quick little word now and then, at some of the parts; and once I know
I saw him wipe a tear from his eyes. After that he put up his hand and
sat with his eyes covered all the rest of the time I was talking. And
he didn't take it down till I said:

"And so, Father, that's why I told you; 'cause it seemed to me if
_you_ wanted to try again, and _she_ wanted to try again, why can't
you do it? Oh, Father, think how perfectly lovely 'twould be if you
did, and if it worked! Why, I wouldn't care whether I was Mary or
Marie, or what I was. I'd have you and Mother both together, and, oh,
how I should love it!"

It was just here that Father's arm came out and slipped around me in a
great big hug.

"Bless your heart! But, Mary, my dear, how are we going to--to bring
this about?" And he actually stammered and blushed, and he looked
almost young with his eyes so shining and his lips so smiling. And
then is when my second great idea came to me.

"Oh, Father!" I cried, "couldn't you come courting her again--calls
and flowers and candy, and all the rest? Oh, Father, couldn't you?
Why, Father, of course, you could!"

This last I added in my most persuasive voice, for I could see the
"no" on his face even before he began to shake his head.

"I'm afraid not, my dear," he said then. "It would take more than
a flower or a bonbon to to win your mother back now, I fear."

"But you could try," I urged.

He shook his head again.

"She wouldn't see me--if I called, my dear," he answered.

He sighed as he said it, and I sighed, too. And for a minute I didn't
say anything. Of course, if she wouldn't _see_ him--

Then another idea came to me.

"But, Father, if she _would_ see you--I mean, if you got a chance, you
_would_ tell her what you told me just now; about--about its being
your fault, I mean, and the spirit of youth beating against the bars,
and all that. You would, wouldn't you?"

He didn't say anything, not anything, for such a long time I thought
he hadn't heard me. Then, with a queer, quick drawing-in of his
breat