Often when a group of girls gathered around her upon the wide veranda,-the favorite lounging place after school hours in these pleasant September days, so like a bit of forgotten summer,-the Professor's form would appear in their midst. Then, if she were the speaker at the moment, the words died upon Katey's lips. Sometimes in the evening when she had taken her work for an hour down into the study hall where the other teachers were gathered and Prof. Dyce sat enthroned, looking up from her needle she would find the sharp gray eyes fixed upon her with a puzzled, strange expression, which sent the stitches all awry. His class-room adjoined her own. She had caught a glimpse of its arrangement more once through the half open door. He had fitted it for a study as well as classroom, with a comfort and even luxury which made the others seem bare by comparison. The teachers were accustomed to seek him here, to offer complaints or ask advice or assistance. Katey met them often as she came from or went to her classes. Indeed, hardly a day passed in which Miss Wormley's teetering step and high-pitched voice were not heard outside the door. She alone had never entered his room. She had no complaints to make, no aid to ask; her duties were simple and plain.

than

She had drawn Clary Luckiwinner away from the other girls one afternoon. Clary was a dull scholar at best, but in French verbs she was well-nigh hopeless; Katey, seeing her pore over them day after day, endeavored to drill her out of school-hours, by a method of her own. It was half an hour before tea, and the long file of girls detailed for afternoon exercise had just returned. They filled the veranda, they chattered in the study hall and upon the stairs, they had even invaded her own room upon some flimsy pretext.

spring attached to its jaws and causing it suddenly to gnash its hideous teeth. Opposite this was a door barred by a stationary table hanging flat against the posts ordinarily, but raised on Friday afternoons when the clothes were given out from the store-room here, connected with the laundry in the rear. This was the province of Mrs. Jones-the jimberjawed woman who had come from New Hampshire unattended. At other times the hall was only used as a passage between the new building-as the one containing the school-room was called-and the dining-room, and mostly in the extremely cold or stormy weather when it would be uncomfortable to cross the sheltered veranda. It was here that Katey led Clary to remain until the horrible gong, always beaten in this place, should announce tea, and drive them away. Curled upon one of the great boxes, her back resting fearlessly against the high, red case containing the skeleton, Katey opened the grammar. Now, Clary, which is it?

66

Certainly no

The third? Or shall we look over the exercise first?" The two heads were very close together as they turned the leaves to find the place, when suddenly, without voice or warning, a well-kept but by no means small hand reached over and between them, and the book disappeared. Clary uttered a sharp little scream. Even Katey caught her breath. Had the skeleton become reanimated? skeleton ever displayed such muscular fingers as those which had closed over the book in her lap. She remembered now that this hall was the direct passage from the class-rooms to the library, to the President's office, and indeed, the whole of the story above, as well as to the dining-room upon this floor; and with the indignation in her face there was blended no surprise to see Prof. Dyce standing before her coolly turning the leaves of the French

dignified position and walked away without a word, leaving Clary to remain or follow as she chose. Clary, whose intui-· tions were not especially keen, chose to stay. She was not at all afraid of Prof. Dyce, who, although reserved yet watchful in his intercourse with the girls, was too thoroughly just in his dealings to fail to win their respect, and a kind word or two bestowed upon Clary in the days of her desolation, had made her his faithful servShe began now with an elaborate

ant.

explanation of the circumstances which had brought them here, ending with a eulogy upon Katey's patient endeavors in her behalf." It makes no difference how tired she is; she hears me say them every day," she added in conclusion.

66 But Miss Earle does not have the French classes."

"O no; Miss Wormley has us beginners. But it is very kind in Miss Earle," Clary ventured. It had dawned upon her at last that there was something like disapproval in the Professor's manner.

"Yes," he said thoughtfully, giving her the book, and passing on.

Katey's steps were quickened when once out of the Professor's sight. Passing the school-room she saw that it was empty now. Her eyes were full of angry tears, and there was a choking sob in her throat. The awful shriek and wail of the gong sounded in her ears. She could not go on to her room, meeting half the school upon her way. She turned in here and passed down the length of the room to one of the desks in the last row. The shutters were closed to keep out the dust whirling through the narrow streets in the September wind; the light was dim here; no one would notice her. She was shaded too by the heavy, winding stairway behind her, beginning in a broad step or two, then branching off on either side and leading to the dormitory halls above. No one would descend here; these stairs were never used except upon grand occasions. The last shriek of the gong,-like a voice from Pandemonium, -had died away. She would not heed the summons, Clary alone would miss herClary, who followed her like a spaniel, and with whom she could not be trusted, it seemed; and for the moment the anger that rose within her dried away her tears.

The place was very still. The bustle and din of the town was shut out from her retreat. The very quiet soothed and calmed her after a while. She crossed her arms upon the desk, and laid her head upon them. A gentle drowsiness stole over her-the rest which comes after a sharp pain. She was roused by a step upon the veranda,—a sharp resounding step belonging to no one of the girls. It would pass

on.

But to her terror it drew nearer and nearer. She would not raise her head. The shadows would hide her. It came down the aisle, it paused beside her. She lay quite still, but stifled by the frightened beating of her heart. It was Prof. Dyce,

57

she knew. One moment, then he moved softly away as though he thought she slept. She raised her head when the door had closed after him. There was a rustle of garments behind, and, yet, above her. She turned quickly. Did she dream it? Or had she seen at that moment Miss Wormley's blinking eyes peering down from the winding-stairs behind her?

There was the rush of slippered feet upon the veranda, the sound of sharp, shrill voices, the door was flung open, tea was over, and the girls streamed by and in at the farther end of the room.

Some one approached with anxious haste, bearing a little tray carefully. It was Clary Luckiwinner, her face aglow. I have brought you some tea and toast; and I begged Mrs. Jones to give me a bit of marmalade;" and she set her tray down upon the desk.

"But I have a headache. I did not care for anything. How did you know I was here?" Katey added quickly.

"O, Prof. Dyce told me that he found you asleep in the school-room. And he said perhaps Mrs. Jones would let me carry some tea to you. It is quite like a picnic, isn't it?" Clary went on, spreading a fresh napkin over the desk.

So she was indebted to Prof. Dyce? He had repented then of his rudeness. Perhaps he had come to tell her so. She was still sore and hurt, and by no means inclined to forgive him; but she was faint also, and feverish with thirst, so she drank the tea thankfully, and ate the thin slices of toast which Clary's delighted hands spread for her.

She would not stay in her own room that evening, as she was at first inclined to do. She was too proud to hide, as though she were sorry or ashamed. And, yet, she shrank from meeting the Professor again. She waited until past the hour of assembling in the study-hall, and then stole down the stairs, and slipped into a seat near the door. It was Friday evening. There were no lessons for the next day to be learned. The girls had gathered in knots, sewing in hand, waiting for some one of the teachers to read aloud, as was the custom. Miss Hersey, turning her perplexed, annoyed face towards the clock continually, rose at last with some hesitation; but at that moment the door opened, and Prof. Dyce walked into the room, and ascended to the desk. The half suppressed voices ceased as he searched among the books before him.

There was a perceptible frown upon the broad forehead. Some one ventured an irrelevant question. He answered sharply. The girls stared, and whispered to each other. He found the book he sought, raised his head, and glanced over the group of teachers by the door. His face cleared

somewhat at sight of Katey's gray-clad figure seated composedly with the others, her head bent over her work. He turned the pages, found the place, and began to read:

"Notwithstanding the general rules, established for the conviction and punishment of the Christians, the fate of those sectaries, in an extensive and arbitrary government, must still, in a great measure, have depended on their own behavior, the circumstances of the times and the temper of their supreme as well as subordinate

rulers."

She

The work fell from her hands. stammered and blushed, feeling every eye upon her. "I beg your pardon; I—I was not listening;" she was obliged to say.

The book closed with a snap. "There will be no more reading to-night;" and the Professor descended from his desk, and quitted the room.

The assembly broke up in confusion, but not before Katey had caught Miss Wormley's whispered exclamation, "Stupid!"

Yes, it was thoroughly stupid. How could she have done so ? She was humbled and penitent.

"Don't mind it at all;" said gentle Miss Severance in her ear as they were leaving the room. "It would have been the same with any of us; we were not paying the least attention.'

"It was so unlike Prof. Dyce," added Miss Hersey. "I never knew him to read Roman History before on Friday evening."

Saturday morning was a time of unrestrained liberty to the girls. They came and went as they chose, making purchases, or paying visits, if they were so fortunate as to have friends in the town. Katey, bound by no restrictions upon other days, was glad to stay within doors to enjoy the unusual quiet of the deserted school-room and empty halls. She had finished a letter to Delphine, and was on her way now to leave it upon the desk in the school-room, from which the letters were gathered at certain hours. Some one ran against her at the foot of the stairs. It was little Maria Chillson, one of the youngest girls in the school, all in a flutter of haste and flying ribbons. "O, Miss Earle, I was coming to your room. I have got something for you." She pulled and tugged at her pocket, bringing out neither cake nor candy,-with which that receptacle was usually filled,— but a note.

From whom could it be? There was no postmark or stamp upon it, and the handwriting was strange to her. She turned it over and over: there was no mistake. "Miss Katherine Earle," the superscription read.

"Where did you get this?".

"A gentleman gave it to me on the street. He went away to write it, and came back again. And he asked me ever so many questions, too,-if you had to sit in the school-room evenings, and all that," the child added carelessly. It was nothing to her. She was impatient to be gone again. The precious moments were slipping away.

Katey sat down upon the stairs, seized with a sudden trembling. It had come at last, then. He had not forgotten her. She had not trusted him in vain. And he was so near! She rose up hurriedly, and was hastening up the stairs, holding the precious letter tight in her hand, when some instinct of caution made her remember the child. "Maria!" she called. The blue ribbons were half way across the veranda. They came back drooping, and slowly. She took the child in her arms. "I want to tell you something," she said. "You must never do this again. You must never listen to any stranger upon the street. Will you remember?"

"Yes, ma'am ; but the child made an impatient movement to free herself from Katey's arm.

"And, now, you had better come with

me."

"But I want to go out again. I—”

"You are too young to go out alone. It must not happen again. Never mind;" as the heavy little countenance fell into a still more forlorn expression of disappointment; "I will go with you some afternoon next week, and now you may come and sit with me, if you choose, until the others return;" and she bore her off.

The note fairly burned in her pocket; but she would not open it before the child. She taxed herself to amuse her little prisoner so that she should not feel her bonds, and the child passed a happy hour until the gong sounded for dinner, calling them both below. It seemed as though the dinner hour would never pass. It was, indeed, the most unrestrained and social meal of the week; where the girls brought to eager telling their exploits and adventures of the morning, and at which more than half of them appeared in their hats and shawls-as they came in from the

street.

Dinner over at last, she was waylaid as she passed Miss Hersey's hall and led away to her room for a long consultation about various school matters, which seemed to Katey strangely trivial and unimportant, -longing, as she did, to be set free. Even when she had gained her own room Clary followed close in her footsteps to ask her advice upon her toilet for the evening. It was to be one of the reception nights which occurred three or four times in a term, when the friends of the teachers and pupils were invited to pass the evening at the school. There would be music and restrained conversation, with some simple refreshments served in the music-room. Clary, upon these rather mild occasions, decked herself out like a Chinese idol. "And what will you wear?" she asked. "Please, something light and thin; and braid your hair like a crown." Katey threw open the shutters to let the faint breeze steal in. A flood of torrid sunlight came

59

where should she go? The halls, the stairs, the school-room, each held its knots of chattering girls. The skeleton-room was not to be thought of again, and she would not venture upon her class-room lest in the narrow passage she should encounter Prof. Dyce. Not until the summons came to tea was the room cleared; and then she followed the others. She lingered to fasten the door behind her, and so stepped out into the hall alone. As she passed little Maria Chillson's door she saw that three figures stood just inside. They were Miss Wormley, Maria, and a dullfaced girl, who would have passed through the school unnoticed, but that she was a niece of the President of the United States, and subject to fits. Either of these circumstances would have been sufficient to make her remarkable. The conjunction rendered her famous.

"I don't know;" Maria was saying impatiently; "only he gave me the note,

and

They all turned at Katey's step. Maria flushed crimson and hung down her head. Miss Wormley came forward with unnecessary haste. "I have had a note from Maria's mother; I took it up to read to her; she said. Katey turned her dark eyes full upon her. It was not the truth, she knew. It was of Dacre's note to her they had been speaking. They had made the child tell the story. But they could not take it away from her, she thought with a great rush of gladness, pressing her hand instinctively upon the pocket where the precious missive still lay hidden. She had hastened her steps, she murmured something, she hardly knew what, as she left them and ran down the stairs and across the veranda. She feared nothing at this moment, she desired nothing but one little half hour of undisturbed solitude.

She left the table before the others, slip

near the door. Not once did she pause or glance to the right or left until she had gained her own room, and fastened the door behind her. Not even Clary should enter now.

One after another the girls in the hall stole in. A rap at the door, a faint excuse until the place was full. She might run 2way and leave them in possession; but

She drew the note from her pocket. How she had longed for it! He might have written to her openly. She had scanned the letters day after day in eager hope; but in vain. She had tried not to be impatient. She had striven to banish her fears. She held the letter in her