The Sabbath morning dawned bright and clear. Lulu rose with the sun and, before he was an hour high, was down on the veranda, gazing with delight upon the lovely landscape spread out at her feet.

So absorbed in its beauties was she that she failed to hear an approaching footstep, and was aware of her father's presence only when he laid a hand gently on her head and, bending down, imprinted a kiss on her lips.

"An early bird as usual, my darling!" he said.

"Yes, sir, like my father, my dear, dear father," she returned, twining her arms around his neck and holding him fast for a moment.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, releasing himself and taking her hand in his.

"Oh, yes, indeed, papa! Did not you?"

"I did; I think we all did," he answered. "God has been very good to us. And what a lovely, lovely Sunday morning it is!"

"We can all go to church, can't we, papa?" she asked.

"I think so," he said. "And now you would like to walk down across the lawn, to the water's edge, with me?"

"Oh, yes, indeed, papa," she cried delightedly. "It was just what I was wanting to do."

"It might be well for you to have a bit of something to eat first," he said. "Ah, here is just the thing!" as a servant approached with a waiter on which were some oranges prepared for eating in the way Grandma Elsie had enjoyed them in her young days.

"Thank you, Aunt Sally," the captain said, helping Lulu and himself; "you could have brought us nothing more tempting and delicious. Will you please carry some up to my wife?"

"Ise done it already, sah," replied the woman, smiling all over her face, and dropping a courtesy; "yes, sah; an' she say dey's mighty nice, jes like she hab when she's heah in dis place yeahs ago."

"Papa," remarked Lulu, as they presently crossed the lawn together, "I'm so glad to be here again, and with you. It was a delightful place the other time, I thought, but, oh, it seems twice as pleasant now, because my dear father is with us!" and she lifted her eyes to his face with a look of ardent affection.

"Dear child, it is a great pleasure to me to be with you and the rest," he returned, pressing affectionately the little hand he held in his, "and if you do not have a happier time than you had here before, it shall not be because your father does not try to make it so.

"But, my dear little daughter, remember you have the same spiritual foes to fight here as in other places. If you would be happy you must try to live very near to Jesus and to watch and pray lest you enter into temptation. Particularly must you be ever on your guard against that quick temper which has so often got you into trouble."

"Papa, I do intend to," she said, with a sigh; "and I am very glad I shall have you close at hand all the time to help me in the fight; for you do help me, oh, so often—so much, dear papa!" and again she lifted loving eyes to his face.

"I am very thankful that I can, my darling," he returned. "I feel that God has been very good to me in so changing my circumstances that I can be with you almost constantly to aid you in the hard task of learning to control the fiery temper inherited from me. Yet, as I have often told you, dear child, the hardest part of the fight must inevitably be your own, and only by the help of him who has all power in heaven and in earth can you conquer at last.

"I want you to feel that in your inmost soul, and to beware of self-confidence, which was, I think, the cause of your sad failure of a few weeks ago."

"Yes, papa," she said humbly, "I believe I had begun to feel that I was quite reformed, so did not watch and pray as constantly as I used to, and then almost before I knew it I was in a passion with poor Alma."

"'When I am weak, then am I strong!' the apostle says," returned her father; "that is when we feel our weakness and trust in the strength of our Almighty Saviour; of him who has said, 'In me is thine help.' It is help, daughter, which is never refused to those who look humbly to Jesus for it."

"I am so glad the Bible tells us that," she said.

They walked on in silence for a little, then Lulu said, "Papa, I asked Cousin Molly last night if Professor Manton still had his school at Oakdale. She said, 'Yes, is your papa going to send you there?' and I was so glad I could answer, 'No, ma'am; he is going to teach me himself.' Then Cousin Molly said, 'Oh, is he? I am sure that will be far pleasanter for you, dear. The professor is not very popular, and I hear that his school grows smaller.'"

"Ah, then, don't you think it would be only kind in me to put my eldest daughter there as a pupil?" asked the captain jestingly.

"Not to me, papa, I am sure," she answered, lifting to his smiling eyes that said as plainly as any words could have spoken that she had no fear that he would do any such thing.

"No; and I do not know what could induce me to do so," he returned. "So you need never ask it, but must try to content yourself with the tutor who has had charge of your education ever since Woodburn became our home."

"I don't need to try, papa," she said with a happy laugh; "for it's just as easy as anything. Gracie and I both think there was never such a dear, kind teacher as ours. Neither of us wants ever to have any other."

"Ah! then we are mutually pleased. And now I think we should turn and go back to the house, for it must be near the breakfast hour." They found Violet, Grace, and the little ones on the veranda, awaiting their coming, and breakfast ready to be served.

Morning greetings were exchanged and all repaired to the breakfast room.

The meal proved a dainty one, was daintily served and enlivened by cheerful chat on such themes as were not unsuited to the sacredness of the day.

Family worship followed, and soon after the family carriage was at the door ready to convey them to the church of which their Cousin Cyril was pastor.

The captain, Violet, and the two little girls, Lulu and Grace, formed the deputation from that family, the two babies remaining at home in the care of their nurse, whom they had brought with them from Woodburn.

Cyril gave them an excellent sermon, and at the close of the exercises conducted a Bible class attended by nearly every one belonging to the congregation.

The Viamede family remained to its close, held a little pleasant talk with the relatives from the parsonage and Magnolia Hall, then drove back to Viamede, reaching there just in time for dinner.

In the afternoon the captain gathered his family and the servants under the trees in the lawn, read and expounded a portion of scripture, and led them in prayer and the singing of several familiar hymns.

The evening was spent much as it would have been at Woodburn, and all retired early to rest.

Monday morning found them all in good health and spirits, entirely recovered from the fatigues of the journey and ready for work or play.

"We don't have to learn and recite lessons to-day, papa, do we?" asked Lulu, at the breakfast table. "I think you said we could have a day or two for play first, didn't you?"

"Yes; but I shall give you your choice of having that playtime now or taking it about a week hence, when you will have Rosie and Walter with you."

"May I choose too, papa?" asked Grace.

"Yes."

"Then I choose to wait for my holiday till the others are here to share it with us; for don't you suppose Grandma Elsie will let them, papa?"

"No doubt of it," he replied. "And what is your choice, Lulu?"

"The same as Gracie's, papa," she answered in bright cheerful tones. "Lessons are not bad to take, with you for my teacher," she added laughingly, "and will leave us a good deal of time for running about and looking at everything."

"Besides an occasional drive or walk with mamma and papa," he supplemented, with an approving smile, adding, "the lessons shall not be long or hard to-day, so that you will still have some time for roaming about the grounds; and perhaps, if my pupils are very deserving, there may be a row on the bayou after dinner."

"Oh, how delightful, papa!" they cried, in a breath.

"I am glad you think so," he said, smiling on them; "there is nothing I enjoy more than giving pleasure to my wife and children," with an affectionate glance at Violet. "I hope such a little excursion will afford you pleasure, my dear?"

"Yes," she returned gayly, "I think even the children will hardly enjoy it more than I; and," she added laughingly, "I shall endeavor to earn my right to it by faithfully attending to housekeeping matters in the meantime."

"I don't believe there is any schoolroom here!" exclaimed Grace, as if struck with a sudden thought.

"We will have to select one and get it ready before the others come," said Violet.

"And for the present my dressing-room will answer very well," added the captain.

So thither the children repaired at the usual hour for beginning their studies.

It was at first a little difficult to fix their attention upon them, but with an earnest desire to do right, and to please their dear father, they made very determined efforts, and had their lessons well prepared by the time he came to hear them.

It seemed to afford him pleasure to give the deserved meed of praise, and the young faces grew bright and gladsome under it. An hour was then given to writing and ciphering, and they were dismissed for the day.

"May we go out into the grounds now, papa?" asked Lulu, as she put up her books.

"Yes," he replied, "but keep near the house for the present, for it is near dinner-time now."

"We will, papa," both little girls answered and hurried away.

They sported about the lawn till summoned to the house by the dinner-bell, whose call they obeyed with alacrity, air and exercise having given them good appetites.

"My dear," the captain said to his wife, near the conclusion of the meal, "you have had a busy morning, can you not afford to devote the afternoon to recreation?"

"Certainly, if you will share it," she replied. "Are we not to have that row on the bayou?"

"It is what I had planned, should my wife still feel inclined to go," he said.

"Ah! that will be very enjoyable I think; and perhaps there may be time afterward for me to drive over to the parsonage. I want a bit of chat with Isa about some household matters."

"Yes, I think you may have time for both," he returned. "An hour on the bayou will be sufficient for this first time; the carriage can be ordered to be in waiting when we return, and you, if the plan suits your views, can drive over to the parsonage at once, have your talk, and be at home again in season to pour out your husband's tea."

"That will do nicely, thank you, sir," she returned gayly. "I see I am not likely to lack for diversion with you at the head of affairs, so I think I shall try to keep you there as long as possible."

"I hope you will, Mamma Vi," said Lulu, "And any way I'm glad that when papa is about, he is the one that has control of me."

"So I have at least one willing subject," remarked the captain, looking not ill-pleased.

"Two, papa," said Grace, "you can always count on me for one."

"I don't doubt it in the least, dear child," he said. "And now, as I see you have all finished your dinner, and the boat is at the wharf, let us be going."

In a few minutes all were seated in the boat, and it was moving rapidly over the water, the children very merry, the parents by no means disposed to check the manifestations of their mirth.

They found the carriage in waiting when they landed.

"You are going with us, Levis?" Violet said inquiringly, as the captain handed her in.

"I should be pleased to do so, my dear, but have too many business letters calling for immediate reply," he said, lifting little Ned, and then Elsie, to a place by her side. "Lulu and Gracie, you would like to go with your mamma?"

"Yes, sir, if I may," Grace answered with alacrity, but Lulu declined, saying: "I would much rather stay with you, papa, if I may."

"Certainly, dear child; I shall be glad to have you," he said with a pleased look; "but I fear you will find it dull, as I shall be too busy to talk to you, or let you talk to me."

"But I can be with you, and perhaps of some use waiting on you, papa."

"Perhaps so," he said. "You generally contrive to make yourself useful to your father in one way or another."

Then the carriage drove on, Lulu slipped her hand into his, and together they walked back to the house.

"I do hope I can find something to do that will be a help to you, papa," she said, as they entered the library.

"I verily believe my dear eldest daughter would like to carry all her father's burdens if she could," he said, laying his hand caressingly on her head, "but it wouldn't be good for me, my darling, to have my life made too easy."

"I am sure it wouldn't hurt you, papa, and I only wish I could carry all your burdens," she replied, with an ardently affectionate look up into his face. "Isn't there something I can do now?"

"Yes," he replied, glancing at the table; "here are papers, magazines, and letters, quite a pile. You may cut leaves and open envelopes for me, that will save me some time and exertion—be quite a help."

"Yes, sir; I'll be glad to do it all. But, oh, papa," and a bright, eager look came into her face.

"Well, daughter, what is it?" as she paused half breathless with her new idea.

"Papa, couldn't I write some of the letters for you? Here is my typewriter that you so kindly let me bring along. I've learned to write pretty fast on it, you know, and wouldn't it be easier for you just to tell me the words you want said and let me put them down, than to do it all yourself with either it or your pen?"

"That is a bright thought, daughter," he said, patting her cheek, and smiling down upon her. "I dare say that plan would shorten my work considerably."

"Oh, I shall be so glad if it does, papa!" she exclaimed. "There is nothing in the world I'd enjoy more than finding myself a real help and comfort to you."

"I have found you both many a time, daughter," he responded, taking up and opening a letter as he spoke, while she picked up a paper cutter and fell zealously to work opening envelopes, laying each one close to his hand as she had it ready.

"Now, you may get your typewriter ready for work," he said presently. "Put in a sheet of this paper," taking some from a drawer in the table and laying it beside the machine, "date it, and in a moment I will tell you what to say."

He had already instructed her carefully in punctuation and paragraphing: spelling also; and, with an occasional direction in regard to such matters, she did her work well.

She was full of joy when at the close of the business he bestowed upon her a judicious amount of praise and said that she had proved a great help to him, shortening his labor very considerably.

"I think," he concluded, "that before long my dear eldest daughter will prove a valuable amanuensis for me."

"Papa, I am so glad!" she cried, her cheeks flushing and her eyes sparkling. "Oh, there is nothing else in the world that I enjoy so much as being a help and comfort to my dear, dear father!"

"My precious little daughter," he responded, "words cannot express the love your father feels for you. Now there is one letter that I wish to write with my own hand, and while I am doing that you may amuse yourself in any way you like."

"May I read this, papa?" she asked, taking up a magazine.

"Yes," he said, and she went quietly from the room with it in her hand.

She seated herself on the back veranda, read a short story, then stole softly back to the library door to see if her father had finished his letter so that she might talk to him.

But some one else was there; a stranger she thought, though she did not get a view of his face.

She paused on the threshold, uncertain whether her father would wish her to be present at the interview, and at that instant he spoke, apparently in reply to something his caller had said, and his words riveted her to the spot.

"No," he said, in stern tones, "had I been here my daughter would never have been sent back to your school. She was most unjustly and shamefully treated by that fiery little Italian, and you, sir, upheld him in it. When I am at hand no daughter of mine shall be struck by another man, or woman either, with impunity, and Foresti may deem himself fortunate in that I was at a distance when he ventured to commit so great an outrage upon my child."

Lulu waited to hear no more, but ran back to the veranda, where she danced about in a tumult of delight, clapping her hands and saying exultingly to herself, "I just knew papa wouldn't have made me go back to that horrid school and take lessons of that brute of a man. Oh, I do wish he had been here! How much it would have saved me! If my father is strict and stern sometimes, he's ever so much better and kinder than Grandpa Dinsmore. Yes, yes, indeed, he's such a dear father! I wouldn't exchange him for any other, if I could."

Presently she suddenly ceased her jumping and dancing, and stood in an intently listening attitude.

"Yes, he's going—that horrid professor! I'm so glad! I don't believe he'll ever trouble this house again, while papa is in it any way," she said half aloud.

Then running to meet her father as he returned from seeing the professor to the door, she threw her arms round him, exclaiming in a voice quivering with delight. "Oh, you dear, dear papa, I'm so glad, so glad to know that you wouldn't have made me go back to that horrid music teacher! I felt sure at the time that you wouldn't, if you were here."

He heard her with a look of astonishment not unmixed with sternness.

"O papa, please don't be angry with me!" she pleaded, tears starting to her eyes; "I didn't mean to listen, but I happened to be at the library door (I was going back to see if you were done writing that letter and I might be with you again) when you told Professor Manton that you wouldn't have sent me back to Signor Foresti, nor even to his school. It made me so glad, papa, but I didn't stop to hear any more, but ran away to the veranda again; because I knew it wouldn't be right for me to listen to what wasn't intended for me to hear."

He took her hand, led her into the library again, drew her to a seat upon his knee, and softly smoothing back the hair from her forehead, said in kind, fatherly tones, "I am not displeased with you, daughter. I understand that it was quite accidental, and I am sure my little girl is entirely above the meanness of intentionally listening to what is evidently not meant for her ear. And in fact, now that I think of it, I am not sorry that you know I did not, and do not now, approve of the treatment you received at that time. Yet that was the first time I had ever mentioned it to any one, and I should be sorry to have your Grandpa Dinsmore know, or suspect, how entirely I disapproved of what he thought best to do at the time. Can, and will, my little daughter promise to keep the secret? never mentioning it to any one but me?"

"Yes, indeed, papa," she returned, looking up brightly into his face. "Oh, it's nice to be trusted by you, and not even threatened with punishment if I disobey!"

"I am happy to think that is by no means necessary," he said, drawing her into a closer embrace. "I believe my little girl loves her father well enough to do of her own free will what she knows he would have her do."

"Yes, indeed, papa," she answered earnestly; "and do you know, it seems a great pleasure to have a secret along with you. But, papa, why did you write—after I had confessed it all to you—as if you were so much displeased with me that you couldn't let me stay any longer at Ion after you had found another place to put me?"

"My child, as I had put you under Grandpa Dinsmore's care, it was your duty to submit to his orders till I could be heard from in regard to the matter. You should therefore have gone back, not only to the school, but to the music teacher, when he directed you to do so; you were disobeying me in refusing, and also showing great ingratitude to the kind friends who were doing so much for you without your having the slightest claim upon them."

"Papa, I am very sorry and ashamed," she murmured low and tremulously, hanging her head and blushing deeply as she spoke; "I almost want you to punish me well for it yet."

"No, daughter, that account was settled long ago," he said in kindly, reassuring accents, "fully settled, and I have no desire to open it again."

"But, oh, papa," she sighed, "sometimes I do feel so afraid I may get into a passion with somebody about something while we're here this winter, with all the Ion folks, that—that I believe I want you to say you will punish me very severely if I do."

"My daughter," he said, "I want you to avoid sin and strive to do right, not from fear of punishment, but that you may please and honor him whose disciple you hope you are."

"Oh, yes, papa, I do want to for that reason and also to please and honor you—the best and dearest father in the world!" she concluded, putting her arms round his neck and laying her cheek lovingly to his. "But you will watch me and warn me and try to keep me from yielding to my dreadful temper?"

"Yes, dear child, I will, as I have promised you again and again, do all I can to help you in that way," he replied in tenderest tones.

Then, as the carriage-wheels were heard on the drive without, "Ah, your mamma and our little ones have returned," he said, putting her off his knee; and taking her hand led her out to the veranda to meet and welcome them home.