“There, those are papa’s own,” she said to herself, “and what a number he has!—­all to be answered, too.  I don’t believe he’ll take time to ride this morning; he’s always so prompt about replying to a letter.  Oh, dear, I don’t want to go without him, and I just wish they hadn’t come till to-morrow.”

She walked slowly out to the veranda again.

Rosie and Evelyn had not yet made their appearance, and Grace was romping about with little Elsie and Ned.

Just then a servant man came round from the stables, leading the ponies the little girls were to ride, and at sight of them Lulu seemed to take a sudden resolution.

“Oh, Solon,” she said, hurrying toward the man, “you can put my pony back into the stable; I’m not going to ride this morning; I’ve changed my mind; and if anybody asks about me, you can tell them so,” and with that she ran away round the house and seated herself on the back veranda, where she had been when Professor Manton made his call upon the captain.

Presently she heard the ladies and young girls come down the stairs, her father and Mr. Dinsmore come out from the library and assist the older ones into the carriage, the younger to mount their ponies; then her father’s voice asking, “Where is Lulu?” and the servant’s reply, “Miss Lu, she tole me, sah, to tell you she doan want fo’ to ride dis heah mornin’, sah”; then her father’s surprised, “She did, Solon?  Why, that is a sudden change on her part.  I thought she was quite delighted at the prospect of going.

“Violet, my dear, I find I have so many letters calling for reply this morning, that I, too, must remain at home.”

Some exclamations of surprise and regret from the others followed; then the sound of hoofs and wheels told that the party had set out on their little excursion, and the captain’s step was heard in the hall as he returned to the library.

But a thought seemed to strike him as he reached its door, and he paused, calling aloud, “Lulu!  Lulu!”

She ran to him at once, answering, “Here I am, papa.”

“Why, daughter, what is the meaning of this?” he asked.  “Why did you not go with the others?”

“Because I preferred to stay at home with my dear father; and I hope he isn’t displeased with me for it!” she replied, looking up coaxingly, smilingly, into his face.

“Displeased with you, dear child?  I am only too glad to have you by my side; except that I feel sorry on your own account that you should miss the pleasant, healthful trip along with the others,” he said, bestowing upon her a fond caress.

“But how did you know that I was going to stay at home?” he asked, as he led her in and sat down, drawing her to a seat upon his knee.

“Because I’m enough of a Yankee to be good at guessing, I suppose, papa,” she answered, with a merry laugh, putting an arm round his neck and gazing into his eyes with her own full of ardent filial love.  “I saw that big pile of letters,” pointing to them as they lay on the table, “and I thought, ’Now, if I stay at home with papa, maybe he will let me help him as I did the other day.’  So now as I have stayed, won’t you be so very good as to let me, you dear, dearest papa?”