ture to get it, but Marjorie determinedly set to work, and
studied diligently till nine o'clock, and then went to bed.

Next morning her father awakened her at an early hour, and a little
before seven father and daughter were seated at a cozy little
_tete-a-tete_ breakfast.

At the table Marjorie gave her father a full description of her
experiences of the night before.

Mr. Maynard listened gravely to the whole recital.

"My dear child," he said, when she finished the tale, "you did a very
wrong thing, and I must say I think you should have known better."

"But I didn't think it was wrong, Father."

"I know you didn't, dearie; but you surely know that you're not allowed
out alone at night."

"Yes; but this was such a very unusual occasion, I thought you'd excuse
it. And, besides King was out at night."

"But he's a boy, and he's two years older than you are, and then he had
our permission to go."

"That's just it, Father. I felt sure if you had known all about it, you
would have given me permission. I was going to telephone and ask you if
I might go to Mr. Cobb's, and then I thought it would interrupt the
dinner party. And I didn't think you'd mind my running around to Mr.
Cobb's. You know when I went there, I never thought of going to the
schoolhouse last night."

"How did you come to think of it?"

"Why, I wanted my speller so much, and when I saw the schoolhouse roof
sticking up above the trees, it made me think I could just as well run
over there then, and so have my book at once."

"And you had no qualms of conscience that made you feel you were doing
something wrong?"

"No, Father," said Marjorie, lifting her clear, honest eyes to his. "I
thought I was cowardly to be so afraid of the dark. But I knew it wasn't
mischief, and I didn't think it was wrong. Why was it wrong?"

"I'm not sure I can explain, if you don't see it for yourself. But it is
not right to go alone to a place where there may be unseen or unknown
dangers."

"But, Father, in our own schoolhouse? Where we go every day? What harm
could be there?"

"My child, it is not right for any one to go into an untenanted
building, alone, in the dark. And especially it is not right for a
little girl of twelve. Now, whether you understand this or not, you must
remember it, and _never_ do such a thing again."

"Oh, Father, indeed I'll never forget that old speller again."

"No; next time you'll do some other ridiculous, unexpected thing, and