“He tells you, dear; did you not notice?” said Violet.  “He says he wishes to know your faults in order to help you to correct them.  And don’t you think it will help you to avoid wrongdoing? to resist temptation? the remembrance that it must be confessed to your dear father and will grieve him very much?  Is it not kind in him to be willing to bear that pain for the sake of doing you good?”

Lulu did not answer, but Max said, “Yes, indeed, Mamma Vi! and oh, I hope I’ll never have to make his heart ache over my wrongdoings!  But I don’t know how to keep a diary.”

“Nor I either,” added Lulu.

“But you can learn, dears,” Violet said.  “I will help you at the start.  You can each give a very good report of to-day’s conduct, I am sure.

“The keeping of a diary will be very improving to you in a literary way, teaching you to express your thoughts readily in writing, and that, I presume, is one thing your father has in view.”

“But it will be just like writing compositions; and that I always did hate!” cried Lulu vehemently.

“No, not exactly,” said Max; “because you don’t have to make up anything, only to tell real happenings and doings that you haven’t had time to forget.”

“And I think you will soon find it making the writing of compositions easier,” remarked Violet, with an encouraging smile.

“It’ll be just the same as having to write a composition every day,” grumbled Lulu.  “I wish papa wouldn’t be so hard on us.  I have to study lessons a whole hour every evening, and then it’ll take ever so long to write that, and I shall not have a bit of time to play.”

“I wish I could write,” little Gracie said, with a half sigh.  “If I could, I’d like to talk that way to papa.”

“You shall learn, darling,” Violet said, caressing her with gentle fondness.  “Would you like to begin now?”

“Oh, yes, mamma!” cried the child eagerly.

“Then bring me your slate, and I will set you a copy.  Max and Lulu, would you like to bring your writing-desks in here, and let me give you any help you may need?”

Both assented to the proposal with thanks, and were presently seated near her, each with open desk, a fresh sheet of paper spread out upon it, and pen in hand.

“I think that until you are a little used to the business, it would be well to compose first with a pencil, then copy in ink,” remarked Violet.  “And here,” taking it from a drawer in her writing-desk, as she spoke, “is some printing paper which takes pencil mark much better than the more highly glazed paper which we use ordinarily in writing letters.”

She gave each of them a pile of neatly cut sheets and a nicely sharpened pencil.

They thanked her, and Max set to work at once.

Lulu sat playing with her pencil, her eyes on the carpet.  “I don’t know how to begin!” she exclaimed presently in an impatient tone.  “What shall I say first, Mamma Vi?”