a frown to Lulu's brow.

It was this: "Tell Max and Lulu I wish each of them to keep a diary for my
inspection, writing down every evening what have been the doings and
happenings of the day as regards themselves--their studies, their
pleasures, their conduct also. Max telling of himself, Lulu of herself,
just as they would if sitting on my knee and answering the questions,
'What have you been busy about to-day? Have you been attentive to your
studies, respectful and obedient to those in charge of you? Have you tried
to do your duty toward God and man?'

"They need not show any one at Ion what they write. I shall trust to their
truthfulness and honesty not to represent themselves as better than they
are, not to hide their faults from the father who cares to know of them,
only that he may help his dear children to live right and be happy. Ah, if
they but knew how I love them! and how it grieves and troubles me when
they go astray!"

Max's face brightened at those closing sentences, Lulu's softened for a
moment, but then, as Violet folded the letter, "I don't want to!" she
burst out. "Why does papa say we must do such things?"

"He tells you, dear; did you not notice?" said Violet. "He says he wishes
to know your faults in order to help you to correct them. And don't you
think it will help you to avoid wrongdoing? to resist temptation? the
remembrance that it must be confessed to your dear father and will grieve
him very much? Is it not kind in him to be willing to bear that pain for
the sake of doing you good?"

Lulu did not answer, but Max said, "Yes, indeed, Mamma Vi! and oh, I hope
I'll never have to make his heart ache over my wrongdoings! But I don't
know how to keep a diary."

"Nor I either," added Lulu.

"But you can learn, dears," Violet said. "I will help you at the start.
You can each give a very good report of to-day's conduct, I am sure.

"The keeping of a diary will be very improving to you in a literary way,
teaching you to express your thoughts readily in writing, and that, I
presume, is one thing your father has in view."

"But it will be just like writing compositions; and that I always did
_hate_!" cried Lulu vehemently.

"No, not exactly," said Max; "because you don't have to make up anything,
only to tell real happenings and doings that you haven't had time to
forget."

"And I think you will soon find it making the writing of compositions
easier," remarked Violet, with an encouraging smi