Rosie besought her mother very urgently for permission to sit up for an hour beyond her usual bedtime, in order to make greater progress with her fancy work for Christmas, but it was not granted.

“No, my dear little daughter,” Elsie said, “you need your usual amount of sleep to keep you in health, and I can not have you deprived of it.”

“But, mamma,” returned Rosie, a little impatiently, “I’m sure it couldn’t do me any great amount of damage to try it a few times, and I really think you might allow me to do so.”

“My daughter must try to believe that her mother knows best,” was the grave, though gently spoken rejoinder.

“I think it is a little hard, mamma,” pouted Rosie; “I’m almost grown up and it’s so pleasant in the parlor where you are all talking together—­especially now that Cousin Ronald is here—­that it does seem too bad to have to run away from it all an hour before you older folks separate for the night.  I’d feel it hard even if I wasn’t wanting more time for my fancy work for Christmas.”

“A little girl with so foolish and unkind a mother as yours is certainly much to be pitied,” Mrs. Travilla remarked in reply.

“Mamma, I did not mean that; I could never think or speak of you in that way,” returned Rosie, blushing vividly and hanging her head.

“If you had overheard Lulu addressing the remarks to her father that you have just made to me, would you have taken them as evidence of her confidence in his wisdom and love for her?” asked her mother; and Rosie was obliged to acknowledge that she would not.

“Please forgive me, mamma dear,” she said penitently.  “I’ll not talk so again.  I haven’t earned my quarter for good behavior to-day.  I’m quite aware of that.”

“No, my child, I am sorry to have to say you have not,” sighed her mother.

It was one afternoon in the second week after Mr. Lilburn’s arrival that this conversation between Rosie and her mother was held.

At the same hour Max and Lulu were in their work-room at home, busily carving.  Since their dismissal from that morning’s tasks, they had spent every moment of time at that work, except what had necessarily been given to the eating of their dinner.

Presently their father came in.

“You are very industrious, my darlings,” he said in a pleasant tone, “but how much exercise have you taken in the open air to-day?”

“Not any yet, papa,” answered Max.

“Then it must be attended to at once by both of you.”

“O papa, let me keep on at this just a little longer,” pleaded Lulu.

“No, daughter, not another minute; these winter days are short; the sun will Boon set, and outdoor exercise will not do you half so much good after sundown as before.  Put on your hats and coats and we will have a brisk walk together.  The roads are quite dry now and I think we will find it enjoyable.”

The cloud that had begun to gather on Lulu’s brow at the refusal of her request, vanished with the words of invitation to walk with papa, for to do so, was one of her dear delights.