Elsie tripped joyfully downstairs.  “See, papa! see!” she cried holding up her hand before him, “they were not lost, after all.  Oh, I am so glad! aren’t you, papa?”

“Yes, my dear, and now I hope you will be more careful in future.”

“I will try, papa; but must I never play in the brook any more?  I like it so much.”

“No, I don’t like to forbid it entirely, because I remember how much I used to enjoy such things myself at your age.  But you must not stay in too long, and must be careful not to go in when you are heated with running, and always remember to dip your hands in first.  And another thing, you must not stay out so late again, or you may give trouble.  You must always be ready at the usual hour, or I shall have to say you must sup on bread and water.”

“Oh!  I think that would be rather too hard, Mr. Dinsmore,” interposed Mrs. Allison, “and I hope you will not compel me to be so inhospitable.”

“I hope there is not much danger that I shall ever have to put my threat into execution, Mrs. Allison, for it is not often that Elsie is twice guilty of the same fault; one talking generally does her,” he answered with an affectionate glance at his little daughter.

“Then I call her a very good child,” remarked the lady emphatically; “it is no unusual thing for mine to require telling half a dozen times.  But walk in to tea,” she added, folding up her work.  “Ah!  Sophy, I am glad to see you looking neat again.  I think you were in no better plight than Elsie when you came in.”

For some time after this, the young people were very careful to come in from their play in good season; but one afternoon they had taken a longer walk than usual, going farther down their little brook, and establishing themselves in a new spot where they imagined the grass was greener, and the shade deeper.  The day was cloudy, and they could not judge of the time so well as when they could see the sun, and so it happened that they stayed much later than they should have done.

Elsie was feeling a little anxious, and had once or twice proposed going home, but was always overruled by Harold and Sophy, who insisted that it was not at all late.  But at length Elsie rose with an air of determination, saying she was sure it must be getting late, and if they would not go with her, she must go alone.

“Well, then, we will go, and I guess it’s about time,” said Harold; “so come along, Soph, or we’ll, leave you behind.”

Elsie hurried along with nervous haste, and the others had to exert themselves to keep up with her, but just as they reached the door the tea-bell rang.

The children exchanged glances of fright and mortification.

“What shall we do?” whispered Elsie.

“Dear! if we were only dressed!” said Sophy.  “Let’s go in just as we are; maybe no one will notice.”

“No,” replied Elsie, shaking her head, “that would never do for me; papa would see it in a moment and send me away from the table.  It would be worse than waiting to dress.”