"No; next time you'll do some other ridiculous, unexpected thing, and then say, 'I didn't know it was wrong.' Marjorie, you don't seem to have good common-sense about these things." "That's what grandma used to say," said Midge, cheerfully. "Perhaps I'll learn, as I grow up, Father." "I hope you will, my dear. And now, I'm not going to punish you for this performance, for I see you honestly meant no wrong, but I do positively forbid you to go out alone after dark without permission; no matter _what_ may be the exceptional occasion. Will you remember that?" "Yes, indeed! That isn't hard to remember. And I've never wanted to before, and I don't believe I'll ever want to again, until I'm grown up. Do you?" "You're a funny child, Midget," said her father, looking at her quizzically. "But, do you know, I rather like you; and I suppose you get your spirit of adventure and daring from me. Your Mother is most timid and conventional. What do you s'pose she'll say to all this, Mopsy mine?" "Why, as you think it was wrong, I s'pose she'll think so, too. I just _can't_ make it seem wrong, myself, but as you say it was, why, of course it must have been, and I promise never to do it again. Now, if you've finished your coffee, shall we begin to spell?" "Yes, come on. Since you have the book, we must make the most of our time." An hour of hard work followed. Mr. Maynard drilled Marjorie over and over on the most difficult words, and reviewed the back lessons, until he said he believed she could spell down Noah Webster himself. "And you must admit, Father," said Marjorie, as they closed the book at last, "that it's a good thing I did get my speller last night, for I had a whole hour's study on it, and besides I didn't have to go over there for it this morning." "It would have been a better thing, my child, if you had remembered it in the first place." "Oh, yes, of course. But that was a mistake. I suppose everybody makes mistakes sometimes." "I suppose they do. The proper thing is to learn by our mistakes what is right and what is wrong. Now the next time you are moved to do anything as unusual as that, ask some one who knows, whether you'd better do it or not. Now, here's Mother, we'll put the case to her." In a few words, Mr. Maynard told his wife about Marjorie's escapade. "My little girl!" cried Mrs. Maynard, catching Marjorie in her arms. "Why, Midget, darling, how _could_ you do such a dreadful thing? Oh, thank Heaven, I have you safe at home again!" Marjorie stared. Here was a new view of the case. Her mother seemed to think that she had been in danger rather than in mischief. "Oh," went on Mrs. Maynard, still shuddering, "my precious child, alone in that great empty building!" "Why, Mother," said Marjorie, kissing her tears away, "that was just it. An empty building couldn't hurt me! Do you think I was naughty?" "Oh, I don't know whether you were naughty, or not; I'm so glad to have you safe and sound in my arms."