“Some day, when you are a little older; at present you may read only what it says about that.”
Once such a reply to such a question would have brought a frown to Lulu’s brow, and she would have asked sullenly why she could not read the whole book now. But she was improving under her father’s training; growing much less willful and more ready to yield to his better judgment, having become convinced that he was really wiser than herself, and that he loved her too well to deny her any harmless indulgence.
So she responded in a perfectly pleasant tone, “Thank you, papa, I’ll read only that part.”
“I can trust you,” he said, “for I know you to be a truthful child; and I think, too, that you are learning to be an obedient one also.”
Lulu was allowed to stay in the parlor as long as the older people did, as it so happened that they were ready to retire earlier than usual that evening; they separated and scattered to their respective rooms before ten o’clock.
Captain Raymond lingered behind to see that every thing was made secure for the night. Passing into the library on his round he was a trifle surprised to find Harold there.
“Ah, I thought you had gone up-stairs with the rest!”
“So I did—part of the way at least—but the remembrance of something I heard this afternoon and which ought, I think, to give you pleasant dreams, brought me back to tell it. That boy of yours, captain, is a son to be proud of.”
“So I have thought myself, at times, but feared it might be only a father’s partiality,” returned the captain, his face lighting up with pleased surprise. “What have you to tell me of him?”
“He had an experience over at the Oaks last night, that might have easily proved too severe a test of moral courage to an older fellow than he, yet he came out of the trial with colors flying. I heard the whole story from Art Howard as we were driving together from the Oaks over to Roselands.”