There were several reasons why it was—­as she often asserted—­easier to be good with him than with Mr. Dinsmore:  he was more patient and sympathizing, less ready to speak with stern authority, though he could be stern enough when he deemed it necessary.  Besides, he was her father, whom she greatly reverenced and dearly loved, and who had, as she expressed it, a right to rule her and to punish her when she deserved it.

One morning, after several very happy weeks at Woodburn, the quiet of the schoolroom, which had been profound for many minutes, was broken by a slight exclamation of impatience from Lulu.

Her father, glancing up from the letter he was writing, saw an ominous frown on her brow, as she bent over her slate, setting down figures upon it, and quickly erasing them again, with a sort of feverish haste, shrugging her shoulders fretfully, and pushing her arithmetic peevishly aside with the free hand.

“Lulu, my daughter,” he said, in a quiet tone, “put on your hat and coat, and take a five-minutes’ run on the driveway.”

“Just now, papa?” she asked, looking up in surprise.

“Yes, just now.  When you think you have been out the specified number of minutes, you may come back; but I shall not find fault with you if you are not quite punctual, as you will not have a timepiece with you.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, obeying with alacrity.

She came in again presently, with cheeks glowing and eyes sparkling, not a cloud on her brow.

“Ah!  I see you feel better,” her father remarked, smiling kindly upon her; “and I have finished my letter, so have time to talk with you.  Max and Gracie, you may take your turn at a run in the fresh air now.”

Donning their outdoor garments, while Lulu took hers off, and put them in their proper place, they hurried away.

“Bring your slate and book here, daughter,” was the next order, in the kindest of tones, “and let me see what was troubling you so.”

“It’s these vulgar fractions, papa,” she said, giving herself an impatient shake.  “I don’t wonder they call them vulgar, for they’re so hateful!  I can’t understand the rule, and I can’t get the examples right.  I wish you wouldn’t make me learn them.”

“Daughter, daughter!” he said, in grave, reproving accents, “don’t give way to an impatient temper.  It will only make matters worse.”

“But, papa,” she said, bringing the book and slate as directed, “won’t you please let me skip these vulgar fractions?”

“I thought,” he said, “that my Lulu was a brave, persevering little girl, not ready to be overcome by a slight difficulty.”

“Oh! but it isn’t a slight one, papa:  it’s big and hard,” she pleaded.

“I will go over the rule with you, and try to make it clear,” he returned, still speaking in a pleasant tone; “and then we will see what we can do with these troublesome examples.”

She sighed almost hopelessly, but gave her attention fully to his explanation, and presently cried out joyfully, “Oh, I do understand it now, papa! and I believe I can get the sums right.”