And he longed for a reconciliation, but it seemed cruel to wake her, so it should be the first thing in the morning, he said to himself.
He set the lamp down in a distant part of the room, and prepared for rest.
Max had spent the evening over his books and diary. His entry in that was a brief statement of his delinquency, its punishment, and his resolve to be more obedient in future.
He had just wiped his pen and put it away, when Grandma Elsie came for a little motherly talk with him, as she often did at bedtime.
He received her with a mortified, embarrassed air, but her kind, gentle manner quickly restored his self-possession.
"I was sorry, indeed," she said, "to hear that our boy Max had become a breaker of rules, and so caused us the loss of his society at the table and in the parlor."
"I thought the loss was all on my side. Grandma Elsie," he returned with a bright, pleased look. "I didn't suppose anybody would miss me unpleasantly."
"Ah, you were quite mistaken in that; we are all fond of you, Max."
"Not Grandpa Dinsmore, I'm sure," he said, dropping his eyes and frowning.