“Don’t let me have to repeat my order,” was the stern rejoinder; and she obeyed, trembling and in haste.

She felt sorely disappointed, angry, and rebellious; but, as her father had said, a few moments’ reflection showed her the reason of his refusal to allow her to accept the invitation to the Oaks:  and, as she glanced round her rooms at the many pretty things his indulgent kindness had supplied, her anger changed to penitence and love.

“Of course, papa was right,” she sighed to herself, as she moved about, getting ready for bed; “and it wasn’t because he doesn’t love to see me happy; and I wish, oh, how I wish, I’d been good about it!”

She was not at all drowsy; and it seemed a long, long time that she had been lying there awake, when at last she heard her father’s step in the hall:  then he opened the door, and came in.

He had a lighted lamp in his hand.  He set it on the mantel, and drew near the bed.

“You are awake, I see,” he said.

“Yes, papa; and I’m sorry I was naughty.”

“You understand why I sent you to bed? and why I refused to grant your request?”

“Yes, sir; you can’t trust me to pay that visit, because of my bad temper; and you sent me to bed for disobeying you, by asking again, after you had told me to say no more about it.”

“Yes:  you must learn to be more obedient, less wilful.  Did you obey me about going immediately to bed?” he asked, drawing up a chair, and seating himself close beside her.

“Yes, papa,—­just as quickly as I could get ready.”

“I hope you did not neglect to kneel down and ask forgiveness of God?” he said inquiringly, in a gentle, tender tone, bending over her, and smoothing her hair as he spoke.  “You do not need to be told, that, when you are rebellious and disobedient to your earthly father, you are so toward your heavenly Father also; because he bids you ’honor thy father and thy mother.’”

“Yes, papa, I know; I did ask him; and won’t you forgive me too?”

“Yes,” he said, giving her a kiss.  “I am sorry to have to deprive you of the pleasure of accepting that invitation, but I cannot yet trust you anywhere away from me; and it was to spare your feelings that I did not state my reason before your mamma and brother and sister.”

“Oh!  I’m sorry I was naughty about it, papa,” he said, again putting her hand into his.

He held it in a kindly pressure, while he went on talking to her.

“I intend you shall go to Ion to the Christmas-eve party, and the dinner-party the next day, as I shall be there too.”

“Thank you, dear papa:  I’d like to go ever so much, but I don’t deserve to,” she said humbly, “or to have any Christmas gifts.  If I were you, and had such a bad child, I wouldn’t give her a single thing.”

“I hope she is going to be a better girl, in future,” he said, kissing her good-night.