When he came to her room for a few goodnight words, as he almost always did, and found her shedding tears, he took her in his arms, asking tenderly:
“What is the matter, daughter? are you not feeling quite well?”
“I’m not sick, papa,” she answered in tremulous tones, and half averting her face.
“What then? tell your father what troubles you; he will help and comfort you if he can.”
“I’m ashamed to tell you, papa,” she faltered, hiding her face on his breast.
“Is it that you fear papa has forgotten what an important day to-morrow will be to his little Lulu? If so, you may dry your tears. I have thought of it a great deal and prepared a pleasure for you. Eva is to come directly after breakfast and stay a whole week with you, and it shall be a week of holidays.”
She lifted her head and looked up into his face, smiling through her tears.
“Oh, that is nice!” she cried joyfully, “thank you, my dear papa.”
“As nice as a party?” he asked, with a smile.
“Almost,” she said, hesitatingly. “It’s better than I deserve, because I was so so very very naughty only a little while ago.”