It had been many weeks since Mabel had crossed the threshold of the library, and her father looked up in surprise, as he saw her at the door.
“Mamma said I might come,” she began eagerly, “and oh, papa, I have the book; here it is.”
“The book? What book?” He took the package mechanically, while Mabel stood on tip-toe with her hands tightly clasped, and her eyes fixed on his face.
As Mr. Ford’s gaze rested on the old book with its dull covers, his surprise was evident. “Why, Mabel,” he exclaimed, “where did you get this? It is even an older edition than mine, and in quite as good, if not better condition than mine was originally. Tell me about it, little daughter.” And he drew her kindly to his knee.
Then Mabel poured forth her tale, beginning with her resolve to make good, if possible, the mischief she had done. “For you know, papa,” she concluded by saying, “you always have told me that one ought never to be in debt, and so— Are you pleased, papa? Do you trust me again?”
He kissed her and drew her closer. “Indeed I do, dear child,” he answered.
“And I may come into the library again?”
“Just as before.”
Mabel gave a little satisfied sigh. It was so good to have all restrictions taken away.
“Now I must go to work again, daughter,” said her father. “Thank you very much for getting me the book; and, yes, I think I shall have to give you the other one. Keep it on your shelves, and perhaps it will remind you of two or three things.”