to you, papa," she said,
smiling up into his eyes. "Firstly, then, are we to have school as
usual between this and the time of the wedding?"

"Yes," was the prompt, decided reply.

"Oh, dear!" she said between a sigh and a laugh, "I 'most wish you were
one of the fathers that could be coaxed. But oh, please don't begin to
look sorry and grave. I'm determined I will be good about that and
everything; just as good as I know how to be; and if I'm not I just hope
you'll punish me well, only not by refusing to allow me to act as
bridesmaid to Cousin Betty."

"Love to your father and a desire to please him seems to me a far better
motive for good behavior than fear of punishment," he said with grave
look and tone.

"Yes, sir; and that is my motive; please believe it, my own dear, dear
father," she said, lifting dewy eyes to his.

"Then I have strong hope that my pleasure in the coming festivities will
not be spoiled by having a naughty, rebellious little daughter to deal
with, or an idle one, either. Now what else?"

"Only this, papa: that if you should have letters to write you will let
me help you, using my typewriter, you know."

"Thank you, my dear little helpful daughter. Should I find that I have
letters you could answer for me in that way, I will call upon you for
your offered assistance, as I well know it will be a pleasure to you to
render it," he replied, with a smile and another tender caress. "And I
hope you feel no doubt that it is not for lack of love for his dear
child that your father refuses the holiday you have asked for."

"No indeed, papa. I know you love me dearly. It would break my heart to
think you didn't."

"As it would mine to think my little girl did not love me. Now you must
go at once to bed. Good-night and pleasant dreams."

CHAPTER IX.

IT was early morning at Ion, breakfast awaiting the return of Mr. Edward
Travilla, who had ridden into the village on some business errand,
leaving word that he would be back within the hour to partake of the
morning meal with his wife.

Zoe, tastefully attired, was on the veranda, and the twin babies, fresh
from their bath, looking, the young mother averred, like little angels
in their dainty white robes, were toddling about there, laughing,
cooing, and prattling. They were the idols of her heart. She romped and
played with them now, but with frequent pauses to listen for the sound
of a horse's hoofs or gaze down the avenue, saying in joy