"And you had no qualms of conscience that made you feel you were doing something wrong?"
"No, Father," said Marjorie, lifting her clear, honest eyes to his. "I thought I was cowardly to be so afraid of the dark. But I knew it wasn't mischief, and I didn't think it was wrong. Why was it wrong?"
"I'm not sure I can explain, if you don't see it for yourself. But it is not right to go alone to a place where there may be unseen or unknown dangers."
"But, Father, in our own schoolhouse? Where we go every day? What harm could be there?"
"My child, it is not right for any one to go into an untenanted building, alone, in the dark. And especially it is not right for a little girl of twelve. Now, whether you understand this or not, you must remember it, and never do such a thing again."
"Oh, Father, indeed I'll never forget that old speller again."
"No; next time you'll do some other ridiculous, unexpected thing, and then say, 'I didn't know it was wrong.' Marjorie, you don't seem to have good common-sense about these things."
"That's what grandma used to say," said Midge, cheerfully. "Perhaps I'll learn, as I grow up, Father."
"I hope you will, my dear. And now, I'm not going to punish you for this performance, for I see you honestly meant no wrong, but I do positively forbid you to go out alone after dark without permission; no matter what may be the exceptional occasion. Will you remember that?"
"Yes, indeed! That isn't hard to remember. And I've never wanted to before, and I don't believe I'll ever want to again, until I'm grown up. Do you?"