But they were very good; lessons went on nearly as usual, little Elsie
keeping order in the school-room, even wilful Eddie quietly submitting
to her gentle sway, and grandpa kindly attending to the recitations. He
rode out with them too, and he, Aunt Rosie or their mammies, took them
for a pleasant walk every fine day.

Friends and neighbors were very kind and attentive, none more so than
the Lelands. Archie told his father how, and by whom, poor Eddie had
been teased, provoked and dared into firing the pistol; Mr. Leland told
Mr. Dinsmore the story, and he repeated it to his father and sisters.

The old gentleman was sufficiently incensed against the two culprits to
administer a severe castigation to each, while Elsie was thankful to
learn that her son had not yielded readily to the temptation to
disobedience. She pitied him deeply, as she noted how weary to him were
these days of waiting, how his gay spirits had forsaken him, how anxious
he was for his father's recovery; how he longed for the time when he
should be permitted to go to him with his confession and petition for
pardon.

At length that time came. Mr. Travilla was so much better that Dr.
Burton said it would do him no harm to see his children, and to hear all
the details of his accident.

The others were brought in first and allowed to spend a few minutes in
giving and receiving caresses, their little tongues running very fast in
their exuberant joy over their restored father.

"Elsie, Vi, Harold, baby--but where is Eddie?" he asked, looking a
little anxiously at his wife; "not sick, I hope?"

"No, my dear, he will be in presently," she answered, the tears starting
to her eyes, "no one of them all has found it harder to be kept away
from you than he. But there is something he has begged me to tell you
before he comes."

"Ah!" he said with a troubled look in his eyes, a suspicion of the truth
dawning upon him. "Well, darlings, you may go now, and mamma will let
you come in again before your bedtime."

They withdrew and Elsie told her story, dwelling more particularly upon
the strength of the temptation and the child's agony of grief and
remorse.

"Bring him here, wife," Mr. Travilla said, his eyes full, his voice
husky with emotion.

There was a sound of sobs in the hall without as she opened the door.
"Come, son," she said, taking his hand in hers, "papa knows it all now."

Half eagerly, half tremblingly he suffered her to lead him in.

"Pa