Emma Lauriston was absent from school three days, and then took her place, looking somewhat pale and languid; but several of the girls were rather impatient to see her.

"Have you heard bad news?" she asked of Kathie. "My cousin said your uncle had returned."

"Yes," in a grave tone, rather unlike the sunshiny Kathie.

"That was quite a romance about your friend Miss Darrell. Do they think Mr. Meredith will—never get well?"

"They are afraid."

The little bell sounded to call them to order, and then began the usual lessons. Kathie's were always perfect, and yet, oddly enough, it seemed to Emma that her whole heart was not in them.

She had fallen into the habit of watching Kathie very narrowly. The "something different from other girls" was still a puzzle to her; and when the doctor had said, a few days ago, "You just missed having a severe attack of diphtheria," it startled Emma a good deal. She knew several who had died of diphtheria; and if she were to die—

Of course she wanted to live. She was young, and full of hope; and there would be the fortune by and by,—one of those odd bequests of which she reaped little benefit now, as it was to go on accumulating until she was twenty-one; but then she would be able to do a great many delightful things with it. That was not all, however. There was something very terrible in the idea of death.

"O Miss Lauriston, we have ever so much to tell you and to talk about!" exclaimed Sue Coleman. "We are going to have some tableaux for a charitable object, and we want you to stand in several of them. You will make such a lovely Sister of Charity in Consolation."

With that the ball was fairly opened. Emma was pleased and interested at once.

"You are all to come over to my house after school. Belle Hadden has planned everything. She is a host in herself."

Kathie had been walking up and down with two or three girls that she did not care much about, only they had joined her, and were, perhaps, better company than her lonely thoughts.

"You are going over to Mrs. Coleman's,—are you not?" asked Emma, in surprise. "Don't you like tableaux?"

"Very much, but—Good by"; and Kathie made a feint of kissing her hand.

"Girls, haven't you asked Kathie Alston?" exclaimed Emma, in the first lull, for the talk had been very energetic; "she would make up lovely in ever so many characters."

There was a silence, and the girls glanced at each other with determination in their faces.

"What is the matter? Has she offended you? I noticed something a little peculiar in school to-day."

"Kathie Alston is well enough—in her place."

Emma colored. "Her place is as good as any of ours, I suppose," she made answer, slowly.

"Well, I don't quite think it is"; and Belle took up the glove. "There are some social distinctions—" The rest of the sentence was rather troublesome.

"I am sure the Alstons are rich, if that is what you mean."

"That is not altogether what I mean"; yet Belle was a trifle embarrassed at being forced to meet the issue so squarely, though every girl felt in her secret soul that Emma was undeniably aristocratic. "If we are to take up everybody who becomes suddenly rich, there is Mary Carson and several others; and I've never been used to it. Mamma is particular about my associates."

"But the Alstons are educated, refined, and were always wealthy until they met with a reverse of fortune when Mr. Alston died."

"And Mrs. Alston used to sew for the whole neighborhood, I've heard. Fancy being compelled to meet your seamstress as an—an equal! Mrs. Wilder ought to be more exclusive about her scholars. Mamma said so herself. And only a few days ago some horrid country clowns stopped right in front of the school, and she went off to take a ride in their forlorn old wagon. Our cook is actually related to these people! Their name is Strong,—a coarse, vulgar set, I know."

Belle talked very rapidly, and her face flushed with excitement. For several moments Emma hesitated. The distinction appeared paltry and mean to her. Then she really did like Kathie. "Girls," she began, at length, "I think you are unjust. I have been at Cedarwood, and met all the family. They are refined, intelligent, have a lovely home, and are—truly noble and Christian people." Emma uttered the last in spite of herself.

"Well, every one can do as she likes"; and Belle gave her head a haughty toss. "I don't think because a man digs up a nugget of gold in Australia he is entitled to a king's position at once. There are some girls at school that I should not associate with under any circumstances."

Emma had a feeling that this was really absurd; yet most of the girls had ranged themselves on this side, and it did require a good deal of courage to go against the opinions of her mates and friends. Still, when she came to think of it, Mrs. Grayson visited the Alstons, the Darrells were their firm friends, and that rich and elegant Mr. Meredith! But Kathie was rather inclined to be hand and glove with people beneath her.

"And Kathie Alston does take up everybody," said one of the girls. "Every few days you see her having some common thing in that pony-phaeton of hers. She hasn't a bit of pride or good taste, and it seems to me that is next of kin to refinement."

"Let us go on with the tableaux."

Emma listened to the arrangements in silence. This made such a beautiful scene,—that was so brilliant, or so pathetic, and must not be left out. And before they were aware the dusky evening dropped down about them.

"Girls," she said at length, in a soft, low voice, "I have decided that I will not take part in the tableaux. Kathie Alston and I have been friends, and I shall do nothing that I am quite sure to be ashamed of afterward. You have been very kind to ask me, and I am not angry with any of the opinions I have heard expressed, though they may not please me. Good night."

"Let her go over to the plebeians!" said some one, with a laugh.

At home Kathie had two pleasant surprises. First, a letter from Miss Jessie all to herself, in which they hoped, very faintly indeed, that Mr. Meredith had taken a turn for the better. If the good news should prove true, they meant, as soon as it would be safe, to remove to a private house. And then she said, "My darling little Kathie, we often feel that we would give half the world to see you."

The other was from Sarah,—a decided improvement upon her Christmas epistle,—not a word misspelled, and the sentences very fairly constructed. The last part was filled with Cousin Ellen and her little boy. Sarah told the whole story in her innocence, without the least intention of boasting. Mr. and Mrs. Strong had offered these poor wayfarers a home until they could do better.

"It is very good of them,—isn't it?" said Kathie. "If the Strongs are not polished, they have generous hearts."

"It certainly is most kind; and I am wonderfully pleased with the improvement in Sarah."

"Uncle Robert, would it be rude to send Sarah a pretty blue hair-ribbon, and tell her a little about contrasting colors? I wish she would not wear so much scarlet. Is it wrong for everybody to look as pretty as he or she can?"

"No, my dear; and sometimes a delicate hint proves very useful. Sarah has entirely too much color for scarlet; she needs something to tone her down."

Kathie had been casting about for some time how to manage this matter nicely, and her present idea appeared both delicate and feasible to her. Looking over her store, she found a fresh, pretty ribbon, and forgot all about the school trouble.

The tableaux progressed rapidly. A number of the Academy boys were invited to join. Mr. Coleman had some tickets printed, which sold rapidly, and the affair promised to be successful.

But one evening Dick Grayson said, "Emma Lauriston would look prettier in Consolation, and make the best Evangeline, of any girl in Brookside. Why haven't you asked her and Kathie Alston?"

"Emma declined," was the almost abrupt answer.

"But Kathie is the sweetest little girl I ever saw. She is always ready for everything."

There was no response. Belle Hadden had gone quite too far to admit that her line of distinction had been wrongly drawn. Lottie Thorne felt both sorry and ashamed; but there was no going back without a rather humiliating admission. And yet if she only had not spoken that day!

But Emma and Kathie drew nearer together in a quiet way through these troubled times. There were some petty slights to endure, and many unkindnesses. Friends and companions can wound each other so often in a noiseless manner,—pain and sting without the buzzing of a wasp, so patent to all the world,—and I often think these unseen hurts are the hardest to bear.

The evening at Mrs. Coleman's was both delightful and profitable. The Brookside Standard contained quite a glowing account of the entertainment, and praised the young ladies for their labor in so good a cause. The sum received, with several donations, amounted to eighty-seven dollars.

"Why did you not speak of it, Kathie?" asked Uncle Robert. "We would all have gone."

Now, there had not been even a ticket offered to Kathie. Indeed, the space being limited, Sue and Belle had made out a list of guests beforehand.

Kathie colored violently, and Uncle Robert looked quite astonished. Seeing that she was expected to answer, she summoned her courage.

"It was a—a party affair of the larger girls in school. They did not ask every one."

"But we might have sent a gift, the object was so very worthy."

Kathie made no reply to that. Uncle Robert studied the grave face, and decided that something had gone wrong.

Dick Grayson dropped in that evening. "I was so disappointed about your not being there," he said. "You would just have fitted in two or three of the tableaux."

But Kathie did not appear to be disposed to converse on the subject, so they wandered off into a talk about Rob, and then Mr. Meredith claimed their attention.

The patricians flourished in grand style. It would have been really laughable to sensible people to see how one after another copied Belle Hadden's airs and graces, and how the gulf widened in school. Several of the girls asked to have their seats changed, until the plebeians were left quite to themselves.

And yet the matter worked out a very odd and rather mortifying retaliation. One afternoon Dick Grayson overtook Emma Lauriston walking homeward. He had that day received a letter from her brother Fred, and repeated some of the contents.

"Are you going to Belle Hadden's party?" he asked, presently.

"I have not had any invitation." Emma's tone was rather curt.

"No?" in the utmost surprise. "What has happened among you girls? You and Kathie were not at the tableaux. Is there a standing quarrel?"

Dick and Emma were excellent friends in boy-and-girl fashion.

"There is something very mean and foolish. I wish somebody could look at it with clear eyes and give Belle Hadden a lesson!"

Emma's usually soft voice was indignant, and her face crimsoned with excitement.

"But how did Kathie Alston come to get mixed up with it. It seems to me that she is the last one to quarrel."

"There was no quarrel, at least no words. There are some very aristocratic girls in school, and Belle is forever talking about her mother's family. So they have divided the girls into patricians and plebeians."

"But Mr. Conover is a gentleman, and the Alstons are all refined. The idea of putting Kathie on the plebeian side is absurd! And you too—"

"I went over there," she said, sharply. "I would not take part in the tableaux on that account. Kathie had done nothing to them. It was because her mother used to sew, I believe, and then Kathie herself is not a bit proud. I suppose if they made a great show and parade like the Haddens—"

"I did not think Belle was that small! And you are a splendid champion, Emma. But Kathie is worthy of the best friendship in the world. She is never mean or envious, or looking out for the best places, and Mr. Conover is just royal. The idea of the Haddens setting themselves up! Why, Mrs. Alston used to sew for my mother, and mother is one of her warmest friends. Isn't there something very unjust about girls,—some girls, I mean?" blushing as he corrected himself. "And why does not Mrs. Wilder interfere, or is she on the patrician side?"

"Mrs. Wilder really doesn't know anything about it. The little hateful acts are done on the sly, just looks and tones, or some sentence that no one can take hold of. It would seem silly to complain of not being noticed. But it takes away the pleasant feeling that used to exist."

"And how does Kathie bear it?"

"Like a little angel. It hurts her cruelly too. About the time this first began, some very common-looking people spoke to Kathie in the street, and the girls have laughed and sneered at that. Indeed, nothing that she does escapes them. I almost wish that I wasn't a girl!"

"Boys don't badger a fellow that way, if they did there would be some thrashing! But I know just how to come up with Belle Hadden, and I'll do it!"

With that Dick laughed.

Emma was so much exasperated that the thought rather delighted her.

"What will you do?"

"I can't tell you until afterward. Don't I wish Rob Alston was home, though! He would enjoy the fun."

They separated at Emma's gate. She was not altogether sure that she was right in her desire, but she determined not to worry herself on that score.

Belle's party was to be quite a grand affair. A number of the Academy boys were invited, those who were rich and stylish; Belle did not come to school the next day, and the girls were rather indiscreet without their leader.

The rooms were beautiful, the supper elegant, the music fine, but—there were so few young gentlemen! Not Dick Grayson, nor Walter Dorrance, nor Charlie Darrell, nor—ever so many others that had been counted upon sure.

Emma guessed as she heard the floating talk.

"I do suppose Belle Hadden was as deeply mortified last night as she could be," Emma said to Kathie. "If ever I have another cause that I want righted I will place it in Dick Grayson's hand. He is equal to Arthur's knights."

"What did he do?"

"He said he had a plan. I know now that it must have been to keep the nicest boys away from the party. Belle likes Dick so much too. It must have been worth seeing,—their disappointment. A host of wall-flowers with no one to lead them out to dance!"

"You didn't ask him to do it?" Kathie's face was full of pain and regret.

"No, not exactly. Indeed, I did not know what he meant to do, only I was telling him about Belle Hadden's meanness, and he thought of a way to pay her back."

"I am so sorry it was—that way."

"Kathie!"

"O Emma dear, don't think me ungrateful! You have stood by me of your own accord, I know," and Kathie clasped her hand. "I am so much obliged to you. They had nothing against you at first, and they were very sorry not to have you at the tableaux. But it always troubles me to know that other people have suffered—"

"Not when they deserve it, surely!"

"Always—if it can be helped."

"And you would not have done this? You think it was not right for me to tell?"

What could Kathie say,—blame her brave comrade?

"No, you do not think it right. I can see that in your face! Kathie, how can you bear everything so patiently?"

"God makes it all right at last. He asks us to wait his time. And though it is very hard—" Kathie's lip quivered and her voice grew unsteady.

"It seems to me this has been the meanest thing I ever knew. You cannot guess what gave it the first start."

"Yes. It was while you were sick that the girls—took a dislike to me. I spoke to some people one day, some friends," correcting herself, "and Belle laughed at them. Then the girls talked about—mamma."

"It was shameful!"

"We were poor, and we had to work. Mamma could not help all that. And then Uncle Robert came, and we have been so very happy ever since. Thinking of it all, I don't mind this little trouble much. All that Belle says cannot make us coarse and vulgar and ignorant, and I have been trying all the time to look on the best and brightest side."

Emma put her arm suddenly around Kathie.

"What is it," she asked, in a husky voice,—"what is it that makes you sweet and patient and tender and forgiving, always ready to minister to others and to the poor, even if you are laughed at and teased? Maybe it's the same grace that takes away the fear of death! O, I wish I knew! I wish I had it! I am sometimes so miserable, Kathie. Do you believe that your God could love and pity me a little?"

"'Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.'"

It was all that Kathie could think of to say as Emma stopped short in her walk, trembling, excited, and tearful.

"But how to come?"

Kathie hesitated. It seemed that she knew so little herself, how then could she direct another? She remembered the other time when she failed to bear witness, and though her shy, delicate nature shrank from anything like a parade of her most sacred feelings, strength was given her when she asked for it.

"I do not know how it is always—" in her sweet, faltering voice, "but when I first wanted to try—to be good,—to follow Him even a little, it was just as if I reached out my hand and prayed him to take it, and kept close to him by endeavoring to do what he wishes—"

"And you did not have—any great light—"

"I had only a love and a desire to obey him. And it seemed as if everybody helped me,—mamma, Aunt Ruth, and Uncle Robert. But there is always something to overcome, some battle to fight."

"And I am a poor, raw recruit. Do you think He will accept me, Kathie?"

"Every one—to the uttermost."

They walked to the corner, where their paths diverged.

"I wish you would come and see me," Kathie said, with her ready grace. "Fred was there occasionally last summer, and Uncle Robert liked him so much!"

"And you will forgive that—revenge? Perhaps I ought to have waited."

Kathie's look was sufficient, though she could not have spoken.

But the child went home in a gravely sweet frame of mind. She was in a mood to tell Uncle Robert the whole story that evening; but there were several guests, so there could be no confidences.

The next morning, after school was opened, Mrs. Wilder rose and told them she had a few words to say upon a subject that had been a source of much disquiet for several days; and then she very kindly but wisely took up the matter that had so divided and agitated the girls, and severely condemned the folly of which some of them had been guilty. "They would find as they grew older," she said, "that with people of culture and refinement social distinctions did not depend so much on a little more or a little less money, but nobleness of soul, thought, and feeling,—deeds that could brave and endure the scrutiny of clear eyes, and not those which must always slink away and hide themselves behind whispered insinuations."

It seemed, after all, as if, in some mysterious way, Mrs. Wilder had learned all the particulars. She mentioned no names, and did not in the least seek to exalt Kathie; but the child knew by the kiss and the lingering glance bestowed upon her that afternoon that all her silence and pain had been appreciated.

If Belle needed anything further to lower her self-esteem, she had it on her return home. Mr. Conover, Mrs. Alston, and Mrs. Grayson had met at the house of a mutual friend when Mrs. Hadden happened to call.

"Belle," she began, sharply, "how could you have committed such a blunder as to omit that pretty little Miss Alston from your party-list? Her mother and her uncle are very charming people, and they have a host of elegant friends in New York. Mrs. Havens was here last summer to visit them, and those aristocratic Merediths are warm friends of theirs. I am so sorry it should have happened!"

"Miss Alston is a regular little Methodist,—too good to go to parties," returned Belle, rather crossly.

And so ended the reign of the patricians. Belle somehow lost prestige at school. Even Lottie began to be pleasant again with Kathie, secretly hoping that Belle would never repeat her unlucky remark.

Dick Grayson and Charlie had to tell Kathie one evening how they spoiled a good deal of the fun at Belle Hadden's party.

"I felt so sorry," Kathie said, gravely.

"Well, you are the queerest girl I ever saw," was Charlie's comment; yet something inside told him she was a noble one as well.

But the sweetest of all was the talk with Uncle Robert.