"Why, of course, why not, papa? It's so much pleasanter there in May, than when everybody is down for the summer."
Her father sat down in an easy-chair, put an arm around his daughter, and drew her down to a seat on the arm of the chair.
"Now, Hazel, I want you to tell me all about it. Don't you want to go?"
"Yes, if you 're there, papa, but--" she turned suddenly and her arm stole around his neck--"don't leave me there alone, papa, please don't."
"Leave you--I? Why what do you mean, dear?"
"Oh, it is so lonesome when you are away, papa, when you go off yachting with the Colonel--and the house is so big, and there 's nobody to talk to and say good-night to--and--and, oh, dear!" The tears began to come, but she struggled bravely for a few minutes.
"Why, little girl, you have never told me you were lonesome without me: indeed, you have never shown any sign of it, or of wanting me around much. I never thought--why, Hazel." Down went the curly head on his shoulder, and the sobs grew loud and frequent.
"There, there, Birdie," he said soothingly, stroking her head, "you 're all tired out; this party has been too much for you--"
An energetic, protesting head-shake was followed by broken sentences--"It was n't that--I 'm not tired--you don't know, papa--I didn't know--know I was lonesome, and that I was--I think I was homesick--dreadfully--but Barbara Frietchie, you know--I had to be brave--and, I have tried not to show it to make you feel unhappy--and I love you so! but, oh, dear! I miss them so dreadfully, and I hoped--I was a member of the N.B.--B.O.--O., Oh--dear me,--Society, and the by-law says--I mean March read it--Oh, papa!"
"Well, well, there, there, dear," said the somewhat mystified father, bending all his efforts to soothe this evidently perturbed spirit, "why did n't you tell me before?"