Nancy strove to be as gay as before. She told herself that the man certainly looked just like the old ballet-master, Bonfanti, but that he might have been a very different person. She did not wish the other girls to know that she had been uneasy or frightened, and so busy had they been in watching people whom they passed, laughing and talking, that Nancy's fright had passed unnoticed by all save one, and that one was Patricia Levine, Patricia, who seemed to see everything. She delighted in seeing something not intended for her eyes, and then how she would run to tell some one all about it!

Patricia had noticed Nancy's cheeks when they suddenly went white, she had seen the look of fear in her eyes, and she was wild with curiosity to know what it meant.

When they had started out Nancy had thought that the ride could not last too long, but the sight of the tall, dark man at the edge of the forest had changed all that, and when Marcus drove in at the gateway of Glenmore, and drew up at the steps, Nancy was the first to spring out. Without stopping in the hall to talk over the ride with the others who had enjoyed it, she bounded up the stairs, and soon was in her room.

Vera stopped Dorothy to ask if Nancy was ill.

"No, oh, no!" Dorothy answered, as she followed Nancy up the stairway.

Vera's question, and Dorothy's hasty reply reached Patricia's ears.

"I'd like to know what it's all about," she whispered, "and I mean to find out, no matter how long it takes me."

It was strange how eagerly interested Patricia always was in anything that did not concern her. She did not know that a newsmonger is never respected, nor did she know that no girl whose nature was refined would care to know other people's business. Nothing so delighted Patricia, as a bit of news that she could, by hook or crook obtain, and the added joy of running off to repeat it, especially if she knew it should not be repeated, was greater than she could have described.

Dorothy, when she reached their room, found Nancy sitting upon a low stool, her hands loosely clasped, her eyes downcast as if studying the pattern of the rug.

Dorothy closed the door, and then, tossing her wraps upon the couch, sat down, Turkish fashion, on the rug beside her.

"Now, Nancy," she said, "you're not to let that man you saw this afternoon make you so uneasy. It couldn't have been Professor Bonfanti who taught you to dance, and was so harsh with you. Why should he be out here, walking through the woods at Glenmore? And even if really it had been Bonfanti, why would you be so frightened? It was your old uncle who stole you from us, and made you dance at the theaters to earn money for him. Bonfanti just taught you because your old Uncle Steve hired him to."

"But Dorothy, you don't know how often he said, while he was training me: 'Oh, if I had you in my hands, I could make you earn twice as much as Ferris does!'

"When he said that he would look as eager as if he really saw the heaps of money that he thought he could make me earn for him.

"I don't know which would be the worse to work for, Professor Bonfanti or my old Uncle Steve, but this I do know: I hope no one will ever take me away from you, Dorothy!"

"And no one shall!" cried Dorothy, throwing her arms around Nancy, and holding her fast.

"I wouldn't have been so frightened if it was just what I saw to-day, but don't you know that just before we left the Stone House, I had a dream of being stolen. I'd not thought of it for weeks, but—well, that man did look like the ballet-master."

Patricia Levine had enjoyed the sleigh-ride. She had liked the clear, bracing air; she had liked being included in the list made out by Mrs. Marvin for the first ride of the season, but she had been annoyed by Arabella.

She stood drumming on the window-pane, and wondering how to begin the lecture that she intended to give Arabella, that is, if Arabella would ever get her wraps off, and sit down. She turned from the window.

"Well, I never saw such a slowpoke!" she cried.

Arabella blinked. Patricia thought she might as well begin, if she wished to say all that was in her mind before dinner.

"I certainly was provoked with you, Arabella, this afternoon. You looked just umbrageous with all those coats and shawls on," said Patricia.

"I looked what?" Arabella asked with a dull stare.

"I said um-bra-geous!" cried Patricia.

"I don't know what that word means," drawled Arabella.

"Neither do I," said Patricia, "but I know that's the way you looked."

"I can't unbutton this top button of my coat," remarked Arabella.

Patricia jerked the button from the buttonhole, and continued:

"How do you s'pose I like to have you act so queer, and then have the girls call you my 'chum'?"

Arabella instead of replying to the question remarked:

"And the fringe on this shawl has caught on a hook on my dress so I can't get it off."

Patricia's eyes were blazing. She was so angry that she hardly knew what she was saying.

"The idea! You had on two coats and a sweater, and as if that wasn't enough for any one girl to wear you went after two shawls. When you got all those duds on you looked as big as an elegant!"

"A what!" gasped Arabella.

"I'm too tired to say it over again," said Patricia, who now knew that she had made a funny error.

"But," persisted Arabella, "you said I looked as—"

It was no use to talk to the walls, and Patricia had rushed from the room, banging the door behind her.

There were weeks at Glenmore when everything went smoothly. Then there would come a week when it certainly seemed as if every one were doing her best to cause disturbance.

Usually the fault might easily be traced to the pupils, but there were times when Miss Fenler seemed as contrary as the most perverse pupil. On those days no one could please her.

Dorothy had little difficulty, but Vera, Elf, Betty, and Valerie were forever vexing her, and Patricia was never able to win her full approval. As for Arabella Correyville, Miss Fenler did not understand her, and Betty Chase said that "The Fender" fixed her sharp eyes upon Arabella, and appeared to be studying her as if she were a very small, but very peculiar bug that she was unable to classify.

There was yet another pupil who puzzled her, and, for that matter, puzzled the other pupils.

She was an old-fashioned little girl, who was letter-perfect in all her studies, but never brilliant, more quiet than any other girl at Glenmore, and so silent that one marveled that a little girl could be so still. Always neatly, but very plainly dressed, she looked like a little Puritan, and acted like one, as well.

And what a name the child possessed! Patience Little, and she lived up to it.

"Do you think she'd jump if a fire-cracker went off behind her?" questioned Valerie, one day.

"No, indeed, she would not," said Elf, who stood near. "I don't believe she would so much as turn around to look at it. She's spunkless."

But they were mistaken.

Among themselves they spoke of her as "Little Patience."

Once Betty Chase told her that she knew a girl whose name was "Patience," who was always called "Patty."

"My family does not like nicknames," was the reply in a low voice, as she turned away.

The day after the sleigh-ride, Lina Danford, one of the youngest pupils, came rushing down the stairway in great excitement.

"My amber necklace has been stolen! Girls! Do you hear? My amber beads are gone! Some one has been in my room and stolen them! Somebody ought to catch the burglar!"

Dorothy, standing near, put an arm around her, and tried to comfort her.

"Don't say it is gone, Lina, dear! It may be just mislaid. If you like, Nancy and I will go up with you, and help you hunt," but Lina was not easily to be comforted.

She insisted that the beads had been stolen, and that, therefore, it was idle to search.

Patience Little, for the first time, showed a bit of interest. She was crossing the hall when Lina raced down the stairs, and she actually paused to listen to what the little girl had to say. She said nothing, and after a moment, she went up-stairs.

She forgot to close her door, and going over to her dresser, opened its upper drawer. From a velvet case she drew forth a smaller velvet case, which, when she touched a clasp, sprang open, displaying a handsome string of amber beads. She held them up so that the light might play through them.

"I never wear them," she said softly, "but I've liked looking at them. Aunt Millicent gave them to me, and maybe I'd like to wear them sometime, but," she continued, "I'll not be selfish and keep them for some time. I'll give them to Lina, in place of those that she has lost."

Hurrying along the upper hall, Lina was surprised to see that the next door that she would pass, stood open. She was about to pass it, when on glancing toward it, she saw Patience standing before the glass, turning this way and that so as to get a better light on the amber necklace that she wore.

With a little cry, Lina sprang into the room. Patience turned, and was about to speak, but before she could say a word, Lina shouted:

"That's my necklace! I knew somebody had taken it, but I never dreamed it was a Glenmore girl who did it. I thought it was a burglar. Give it to me this minute!"

"This necklace is mine!" returned the accused girl excitedly.

Her eyes flashed, she quivered with anger. No one would have believed that the girl who always appeared calm, and rarely spoke, unless spoken to, could show such fire. One could not guess how the scene would have ended, but just at that moment a slight sound made both girls turn.

There in the doorway stood Mrs. Marvin.

"I am very sorry to see anything so rude, so unkind, and so unjust," she said.

"You were hopelessly rude to rush into another girl's room and accuse her, even if she were at fault.

"You were unkind, because you spoke as harshly as possible, and you were unjust, because here in my hand I have your own amber beads that one of the maids has just found.

"You must apologize at once, ask Patience if she will forgive you, and in your own room, try to think of some kind way to make amends."

Lina was crying now.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Why do I never think before I say horrid things? Forgive me, Patience, if you can. I'll gladly do anything for you."

Then the surprise came.

Patience, the silent, shy girl, threw her arms about the younger girl, and held her close.

"The necklace that I have on was given to me by Aunt Millicent. I've never worn it. It is beautiful, but I like quiet colors. The showy things are prettier for other girls, I think. I heard Lina say that she had lost hers, and I was just thinking that I would give mine to her, when she rushed in, and—I hadn't a chance to tell her. That's all," she said simply.

"Oh, I was worse even than I thought," cried Lina, "and to think, Mrs. Marvin, that she was planning to give her necklace to me!"

"Promise me, Lina, that after this you will be less quick to accuse."

"Indeed I will, and Patience, if you'll let me, I'd like to be your friend."

"I'm sometimes lonely. I need you, Lina," Patience said, gently.

Lina never did anything by halves. She told her classmates how just at the time that Patience had been planning to give her own necklace to make up for Lina's loss, she had been harshly accused. She told how sweetly forgiving Patience had been, and wound up by stating that hereafter they were to be chums.

Mrs. Marvin, on the way to her own apartment, vaguely wondered what the next happening would be.

"I wonder if the entire week is to be a series of disturbances," she thought. "To be sure, there are but two days more, Friday and Saturday, but I should not be surprised if some one started something, so as to make the week complete."

It certainly had been a record week for petty annoyances, and to cap the climax on Friday, after lunch, Miss Fenler waited in the hall, near the door that led from the dining-room. She felt that she must speak to Patricia.

As a rule pupils were, of course, permitted to dress as they chose, but it seemed as if Patricia was actually trying to see how strange a rig she could wear and yet go unreproved.

On this day, she had done the oddest thing of all. She had tied her hair on the crown of her head with a yellow ribbon. The ribbon was very wide, and the bow was enormous. As if that were not enough she had taken equally wide ribbon, of pink, and of blue, had tied a large bow of each and then had pinned the pink bow to the right loop of the yellow bow, the blue bow to the left loop, and when she entered the dining-room the effect was, to say the least, amazing!

The bows were about eight inches wide. Really, Patricia was a droll sight!

Unless she were spoken to she would wear her freakish ribbons at the afternoon session.

When lunch was over, and the pupils came trooping out into the hall, Miss Fenler spoke to Patricia. When they at last stood alone in one corner of the hall, Miss Fenler mentioned the gaudy colors, and said that while the girls were permitted to wear as bright ribbons as they chose, they would certainly not be allowed to wear three huge bows at a time.

"The idea!" said Patricia. "Well, I guess I'll not agree to wear little stingy-looking bows for any one."

"You would obstruct the view of the large blackboard," said Miss Fenler. "No one could see around your head."

"I shall wear these bows I have on or none at all!" said Patricia.

"Don't be obstinate," said Miss Fenler. "Mrs. Marvin told me to speak to you."

"Did she say I couldn't wear these big bows?" Patricia asked, her eyes black with anger.

"She certainly did," declared Miss Fenler.

"Well, you can tell her I wear these or none at all," Patricia said, stoutly.

"None at all!" repeated Miss Fenler.

"Don't attempt to come into the class-room with your long hair untidy. Without a ribbon it would look slovenly."

Patricia's smile was broad, and her eyes actually impish as she left the hall.

"She's equal to pinning on a half-dozen extra bows if she chooses," Miss Fenler said, under her breath.

Glenmore, once a private estate, looked like an old castle, and the dwellings that were its nearest neighbors were owned by old and wealthy residents. No stores had ever broken the charm of the locality, and the sleepy old town had supposed that they never would, yet around the corner of a little back street, an enterprising Italian had purchased a wee cottage. After three days a sign appeared in his front window. It stunned the residents. It read:

Already small boys and girls might be seen, in charge of maids, trotting up his steps with long curls, and after a few minutes, appearing with a "Dutch cut."

Patricia, buttoning her coat as she ran, appeared at his door breathless, but eager.

"I want my hair bobbed, and I must have it done right off, or I'll be late to school," she cried, rushing past the astonished Tony, and mounting his big chair.

"Dutch cut!" she demanded, thinking that he had not understood her.

"Cutta da long hair?" he asked, lifting the strands.

"Sure," cried Patricia, "What else would I want cut off? Certainly not my nose."

"Alla right," said Tony, but he thought it strange, and wondered if the little girl's mother would appear at any moment, angry, and vengeful.

Patricia's temper had been gradually cooling, and now, as she saw the long locks that Tony had clipped, she was desperately sorry that she had come. It was half done, however, so she could not "back out." One does not care to appear with the right side of one's head with short hair, and the left side with hair half-way toward one's girdle!

Patricia sighed, and allowed him to continue. What else could she do? She had been proud of her hair, but when she saw herself in the mirror, her vanity came to her aid.

She had given up her fine head of hair, but look! Here was another chance to make a sensation. Not a girl at school had her hair "bobbed."

"Probably they'll tell me that only very little girls have their hair like this, but I don't care. They'll be surprised, and it's the only way I can go without ribbons, and I said I'd wear big bows or nothing."

Of course the pupils stared when Patricia appeared in the class-room, and that delighted her.

"I guess my Dutch cut made more show than my ribbons would have," she whispered.

Making a show was about all that Patricia cared for, the only other thing that she appeared to think worth while was meddling in other people's affairs.