ng. They were angry tears, and the droll part of it was
that while she alone was at fault, she was angry with every one but
herself.

For a few moments she lay, her face hidden in her pillow. Then, she
turned over into a more comfortable position, and softly she whispered,
"I'll do enough to-morrow to make up!"

She did not say _what_ she intended to do, but the idea evidently
pleased her, for she laughed through her tears.

She sprang from her bed, found a box of bonbons that her mother had won
as a prize in an afternoon whist party the day before, and crept back
into bed. When she had eaten nearly all of the candy, she sat up and in
the softly shaded light, looked at the box with its few remaining bits
of candy. She was wondering where she could hide it.

"Ma will surely notice the empty box, or anyway, I've made it _almost_
empty," she said. "She might not miss it if I hid it!"

She had never been taught to be honest, so whenever she did a naughty
thing, her first thought was to hide, or cover up the act. She never
felt regret.

No one ever heard her gently say, "I'm sorry."

Softly she crept from her bed, and made her way across the floor to the
dressing-case.

She put the box upon the floor, and pushed it well under it, and wholly
out of sight.

"There!" she whispered. "That's all right. I would have finished the
candy, but I didn't want the whole of it. I ate the best of it. The
others weren't very nice."

Down in the long parlor the guests were no longer dancing.

They were resting, and listening to a lovely barcarolle played softly by
the orchestra.

Flossie, clinging to Uncle Harry's hand, drew him toward the window.

"Look!" she said, as she parted the curtains. "It isn't raining now, and
the moon is coming out. It will be pleasant to-morrow! And it has been
lovely in here to-night."

"Dear little Flossie, dear little niece, it was your cheery, loving
nature that led us to give your name to our baby. She has two fine
names, she is Beatrice Florence. The first is Vera's mother's name, the
second, dear, is yours."

CHAPTER IV

IN A BIRCH ARBOR

THE storm had cleared the air, no mist veiled the mountains, the
sunlight lay everywhere, gilding valley and stream.

Many of the guests had started early in the morning for a trip to a
distant mountain from the summit of which a delightful view might be
enjoyed.

They were to ride over in the barge to the base of the mountain, have a
pi