Preparations were begun almost immediately on leaving the table, and pretty much all the short winter afternoon occupied with them.

They had their exhibition after tea; a very satisfactory one to those who took part, and to the spectators.

Every child and young person who was desirous to have it so, was brought in to one or more of the pictures.  Lulu, to her great delight, appeared in several and did herself credit.

“How are the fingers, dear child? have they been giving you much pain?” the captain asked when he came to her room for the usual good-night talk, sitting down as he spoke, drawing her to a seat upon his knee, and taking the wounded hand tenderly in his.

“Only a twinge once in a while, papa,” she said, putting the other arm round his neck and smiling into his eyes.  “It’s been a very nice day for me in spite of my accident; everybody has been so good and kind.  I think they tried to give me a pleasant part in as many of the tableaux as they could to comfort me, and really after all it was only a little bit of a hurt.”

“But narrowly escaped being a very serious one.  Ah my heart is full of thankfulness to God for you, my darling, and for myself, that the injury was no greater.  You might have lost your fingers or your hand; you might even have been killed by falling in such a way as to strike your head very hard upon the ice.”

“Did anybody ever get killed in that way, papa?” she asked.

“Yes, I have read or heard of one or two such cases, and had it happened to you I could hardly forgive myself for letting go your hand.”

“I’m sure you might feel that it was all my own fault, papa,” she said tightening her clasp of his neck and kissing him with ardent affection; “every bit my own fault because I begged you to let me try it alone.”

“No, that could not have excused me; because it is a father’s duty to take every care of his child, whether she wishes it or not; and it is my settled purpose to do so henceforward,” he said, returning her caress with great tenderness.

CHAPTER VIII.

The storm continued through the night but had ceased before the guests at Ion were astir; the ground was thickly carpeted with snow and clouds still obscured the sun, but there was no wind and the cold was not severe.

“Just the day for a snow fight,” remarked Frank Dinsmore, as he and the other lads of the company stood grouped together on the veranda shortly after breakfast; “plenty of snow and in prime condition for making into balls.”

“So it is,” said Herbert Travilla, “and I believe I’m boy enough yet to enjoy a scrimmage in it.”

“I too,” said Harold.  “Let’s build a fort, divide ourselves into two armies, one besiege and the other defend it.”

The proposition was received with enthusiasm and the work of erecting the snow fort begun at once.