esitated.

"Suppose you had told Gladys that there must be some mistake, and then
had tried to find out what it was."

"But I was so provoked."

"Yes, and you lost your self-control. You let yourself be ruled by your
temper. It is sometimes right to be angry, but it is never right to be
in a passion."

"Don't you think I am getting better of my temper?" Frances asked
meekly.

"Yes, dear; I have thought so lately, and it was right for you to want
to defend Emma; but to throw the dominoes on the floor, to be in such a
fury--my darling, it makes me afraid for you! You might sometime do
something that all your life would be a sorrow to you. God meant you to
rule your feelings and passions, not be ruled by them. You are like a
soldier who has surrendered to the enemy he might have conquered."

"I'll ask him to forgive me," Frances whispered.

"You know father and I want our little girl to grow into a sweet,
gracious woman--"

"Just like you," Frances interrupted, with her arms around her mother's
neck.

"No, not just like me," answered Mrs. Morrison, smiling; "you must be
your own self, Wink. I have tried not to spoil you, but of course I have
made mistakes, and now you are getting old enough to share the
responsibility with me."

"Do you think you ought to punish me, mother?"

"Dear, I think the punishment will be the trying to set things right
again."

Nothing more was said on the subject that evening, but the next day
Frances came to her mother with a bright face; "I have found out what it
means," she said.

"What what means?" Mrs. Morrison asked.

"The story of the bridge. You know Gladys is mad with me and won't come
here any more-- Emma says she said she would never speak to me
again--and that is a broken bridge and I have to mend it; but I don't
know how," she added.

"Perhaps you can find a way if you try," replied her mother, thinking it
best to let her solve her own problems.

All day Frances' thoughts kept going back to the unfortunate quarrel,
and even when she was not thinking about it she was not happy. The storm
clouds hung low and made the atmosphere heavy.

At twilight she slipped downstairs and peeped into the study where Dick
had just lit the lamp and Peterkin lay stretched at his ease before the
bright fire. She stole in and sat beside him on the rug and stroked him
softly. He purred gently, looking up in her face with so much wisdom in
his yellow eyes she felt like telling him abo