“Certainly, if it suits you, Rose,” replied Mr. Dinsmore; “and Elsie;” he added, “will you go, daughter?”

“If you wish it, papa,” she answered cheerfully; yet there was a slight reluctance in her tone.

He gave her a kind, fond look.  “You are your own mistress, and can accept or decline as your judgment and wishes dictate.”

“But you would rather have me go, papa?”

“I would, because it would seem more kind and courteous.  But what is the objection in your mind?  Perhaps it could be removed.”

“I wanted so much to see Lucy this morning,” Elsie answered with a blush; “but to-morrow will do.”

“But both might be accomplished if mamma and Adelaide like to have Caesar drive them and the little ones over to Roselands.  Then you and I will mount our horses and away to Ashlands for a call, leaving there in good time to join the dinner party at Roselands.  How will that do?”

“Oh, bravely, you dear darling papa! always contriving for my enjoyment.”

Mr. Dinsmore followed his wife from the room. “’Twill be an early return of Carrington’s call,” he said, “but I have a little business with him.”

“Yes, I’m very glad:  it is a good plan; but don’t hurry Elsie away.  She and Lucy will want a long talk.”

“I promise to be careful to obey orders,” he answered, sportively.  “Is that all?”

“Yes; only see that you don’t stay too long, and keep the dinner waiting at Roselands.”

“Mamma,” asked Elsie, bringing up the rear as they entered the sitting-room, “can’t you go, too—­you and Aunt Adelaide?  Four make as nice a party as two, and the babies can be driven over quite safely, with their mammies, to take care of them.”

“No,” said Rose, “I never accept such late invitations; I shall——­”

“My dear,” said her husband, “we would be very glad.”

“No, no; the first arrangement is decidedly the best;” putting on an air of pretended pique.

“Babies! do you call me a baby?” cried young Horace, who had sprung to his feet with a flash of indignation in his great black eyes, “I’m nine years old, Elsie.  Rosie there’s the only baby belonging to this house.  Do you think papa would let a baby have a pony like Gip? and a pistol of his own, too?”

Elsie put her arms round his neck, and gave him a kiss, “I beg ten thousand pardons.”

“Elsie, my daughter, don’t allow yourself to speak so extravagantly,” interrupted her father.

“I will try not, papa,” she answered.  “I beg your pardon, Horace dear, and assure you I think you are quite a manly young man.  Now I must prepare for my ride, papa.  I shall be ready by the time the horses can be brought to the door.”

“Papa,” said Horace, as the door closed upon his sister, “may I ride Gip to-day?”

“If you promise me to keep close beside the carriage.”

“Oh, papa, can’t I ride on ahead a little, now and then, or fall a few paces behind if I wish?”