School began with music, and Miss Rose went to the piano. The minute she began to play, Clematis stood up, and stared at her.

“Sit down. Don’t stand up now.” Jane pulled her sleeve.

But Clematis paid no attention. She kept her eyes on the piano, and seemed to hear nothing else.

The song was of Spring; of birds, and brooks, and flowers. Clematis listened to every word, and when it was finished she sat down with a sigh.

After the singing, they had a class in reading.

Clematis stared at the words on the blackboard, but could not tell any of them.

“Have you learned any of your letters?” asked Miss Rose.

“No’m,” said Clematis.

The other children giggled, for Clematis was as large as Jane. Jane was eight, and could read very well.

“Tomorrow you must go into the special class, and you must work hard, and catch up as fast as you can.”

“Yes’m.”

Clematis was angry. She didn’t like to be laughed at.

At recess, all the children ran out into the yard to play. It was a large yard, with a high wooden fence around it.

Glad to be free, Jane ran off to find some chums, and left Clematis to play by herself.

So Clematis wandered round by the fence till she came to a sunny spot, near the big maple tree with the red buds.

Here she picked up a dead twig and sat down, turning over the dried leaves with the twig, and throwing them in the air.

As she picked up the leaves, she saw some blades of grass beneath them.

Then she picked up more leaves, and found many blades of grass growing beneath their warm shelter.

Clematis got up and walked near the fence, where the leaves were thicker. There she poked them away, and found longer blades of grass, and new leaves, green and shiny.

“Oh,” she said to herself, “I hope I can come out here every day.”

Then she stopped. She pushed away some more leaves. She looked around at the other children.

None of them were looking at her.

She stooped, and took something from under the pile of leaves.

Again she looked about, but nobody was paying attention to her. All the children were playing games.

Then a sound made her look up. It was the bell. Recess was over, and all the children were going in.

Clematis put her hand into her apron pocket quickly, and followed the other children back to school.

“How has the new girl done today?” asked Mrs. Snow, just before they sat down to dinner.

“She seems to feel more at home,” replied Miss Rose. “She doesn’t know her letters yet. I guess she has grown up all by herself.”

“That is too bad. I will give her a test this afternoon, about three. If she would like to play with her kitten in the playroom for an hour, after dinner, she may do so.”

“Oh, I am sure she would be glad to see her kitten. She is a queer child. At recess she stole away all by herself, to play by the fence.”

The children were coming in now, and Mrs. Snow nodded to Miss Rose, as she went to her chair.

Little Sally had been just behind Miss Rose as she said the last words to Mrs. Snow. She heard part of the words she said, and began to whisper to her neighbor.

“She said somebody stole something. It must be that new girl. See how queer she looks.”

Then of course the neighbor had to whisper to the girl next to her.

“Do you know what it was the new girl stole? See how funny she looks. She’d better not steal anything of mine.”

In a minute Clematis knew they were talking about her. She didn’t know what it was, but she knew it was unkind.

They were looking at her, and talking to each other. Her face turned red. She could not eat. One hand went deep into her apron pocket.

Miss Rose quickly saw that something was wrong. She knew that little girls often made fun of the strangers, and it vexed her.

“Any little girl who is not polite,” she said, “may leave the table at once.”

The girls stopped talking, but they poked each other with their feet under the table. They were sure Clematis had stolen something, for she looked just as if she had.

“Come, Clematis, eat your dinner now.”

“Yes’m,” said Clematis. But it was hard to swallow the bread.

She drank the soup, and left most of the bread by her bowl.

As soon as the bell rang, Miss Rose beckoned to her.

“Would you like to take Deborah to the playroom for a while, and play with her there?”

Clematis looked very much surprised. She had expected some new trouble.

“Oh, yes’m,” she gasped, and started down to the kitchen, glad to get away from the other girls, who had been watching.

Then Miss Rose beckoned to Jane.

“Jane, what were the girls saying about Clematis at the table?”

Jane hung her head. She did not like to repeat such awful things about Clematis, for she really liked her, though it was hard to teach her to work.

“Tell me, Jane. Miss Rose wants to know.”

“The girls were saying she stole something.”

“Stole something? Why, what did she steal, Jane?”

“I don’t know. I just heard them saying she had stolen something. She looked just as if she had.”

“Very well. Thank you, Jane.”

Jane went down to the school room, where all the girls were eager to know what Clematis had stolen. But Jane could tell them nothing.

“She just asked me what you said,” Jane declared.

“That’s just like Jane,” cried Sally. “She knows all the time, only she won’t tell.”

While they were talking, Clematis was finding a cosy corner in the playroom, and smoothing out every hair on Deborah’s smooth back.

Deborah seemed very happy, and purred all the time.

“I don’t care if they do say mean things, and make noses at me. You won’t ever, will you, Debby?”

“Purr, purr, purr,” said Deborah. No indeed, she never would.

Time went fast, and it was three o’clock before Clematis had got Deborah settled down for sleep in a little bed she made for her beneath the window.

“Take her downstairs now, Clematis,” said Miss Rose, coming in. “Then come up to Mrs. Snow’s room. We want to ask you some questions.”

Again Clematis turned red. She went slowly downstairs, with Deborah under one arm. The other hand deep in her apron pocket.

“She surely looks as if something were wrong,” thought Miss Rose, as Clematis disappeared.

Clematis looked very unhappy when she went to Mrs. Snow’s room.

“Come in, little girl,” said Mrs. Snow, kindly. “There are some things I want to ask you about.”

“Yes’m,” replied Clematis, her lips quivering.

“First, I want to know what all this talk is about. Some of the girls were saying that you took something which did not belong to you. Can that be true?”

Clematis hung her head. The tears came into her eyes.

“Don’t cry, Clematis,” said Miss Rose. “Just tell Mrs. Snow what it is, and perhaps we can make it all right again.”

“What was it, little girl?” asked Mrs. Snow, as she drew her nearer.

“It was mine, I found it first,” sobbed Clematis.

“Yes, but you must remember that if we find a thing, that does not make it ours. We must find the true owner, and give it back. That is the only honest thing to do.”

“What was it you found?” asked Miss Rose.

“I don’t kn-ow.”

“Where did you find it?”

“Do-wn by the fe-ence.”

“Where is it now, Clematis?” Mrs. Snow spoke kindly, as she wiped the child’s face with her handkerchief.

“It’s in my pocket,” answered Clematis.

She drew out her closed hand, held it before the two ladies, and slowly opened it.

Within lay a limp, withered dandelion blossom.