“What ails her?” he asked.

“I don’t know.  Something that passed between her and her father.  I rather suspect he sent her upstairs as a punishment.”

“Pshaw!  I’ve no patience with him.  The dear little thing!  I don’t believe she deserved it.”

Rose made no reply, but glided up-stairs, and he returned to the parlor to finish the discussion with Mr. Dinsmore.

In the meantime Elsie had shut herself into her father’s room, where she indulged for a few moments in a hearty cry, which seemed to do her a great deal of good.  But presently she wiped away her tears, bathed her eyes, and sat down by the window.

“What a silly little girl I am,” she said to herself, “to be crying just because I can’t have my own way, when I know it will not alter papa’s determination in the least; and when I know, too, that I have always found his way the best in the end!  Oh, dear, I have quite disgraced myself before Miss Rose and her mother, and the rest, and vexed papa, too!  I wish I could be good and then I might be down-stairs with the others, instead of alone up here.  Well, papa said I might come down again as soon as I could be pleasant and cheerful, and I think I can now, and there is the tea-bell.”

She ran down just in time to take her place with the others.  She raised her eyes to her father’s face as he drew her chair up closer to the table.  The look seemed to ask forgiveness and reconciliation, and the answering smile told that it was granted; and the little heart bounded lightly once more, and the sweet little face was wreathed in smiles.

Sophy and Harold were watching her from the other side of the table, and their hopes rose high, for they very naturally concluded from her beaming countenance that she had carried her point, and they would all be allowed to go to the strawberry party next day.

Their disappointment was proportionally great, when, after supper, Elsie told them what her father’s answer had really been.

“How provoking!” they both exclaimed; “why, you looked so pleased we were sure he had said yes; and we had quite set our hearts on it.”

“What is the matter?” asked Richard, who had just come up to them.

They explained.

“Ah! so that was what you were crying about this afternoon, eh?” he said, pinching Elsie’s cheek.

“Did you really, Elsie?” asked Sophy, in surprise.

Elsie blushed deeply, and Richard said, “Oh, never mind; I dare say we’ve all cried about more trifling things than that in our day.  Let’s have a good game of romps out here on the lawn.  Come, what shall it be, Elsie?”

“I don’t care,” she replied, struggling to keep down an inclination to cry again.

“Puss wants a corner,” suggested Harold; “trees for corners.”

“Here goes, then!” cried Richard.  “Sophy, you stand here; Elsie, you take that tree yonder.  Here, Fred and May, you can play, too.  One here and another there:  and now I’ll be the puss.”