It was after opening exercises on Monday morning, that Mr. Hunt, stepping to the front of the platform, announced that the pupils from Miss Fellows’ room who had absented themselves from French on Friday afternoon, were to go to his office instead of to their classroom.

The assembly-room had been very still while the principal was speaking, but as he finished a little ripple of excitement ran over it, and here and there there was a curious turning of heads. Then Miss Rankin struck the preliminary chords, and the various classes formed into line.

Blue Bonnet, with Kitty just behind and Ruth only two places ahead, was wishing with all her heart that presently she too might drop out of line with the others. The fourteen had not been the only ones towards whom curious glances had been turned that morning. “The girl who had not cut” was as much an object of interest as the pupils who had; only there had been no sympathy for her.

That she didn’t look as if she cared, was the general verdict; Alec, watching her from his corner of the big room, knew better. He would have liked to tell those girls what he thought of them—it was the girls who were the worst. He was glad when opening exercises were over and Blue Bonnet had reached the comparative shelter of her classroom.

She was glad, too, though for the moment, in spirit at least, she was in the office with the fourteen. What would Mr. Hunt say to them? Kitty had said once that he could be “rather awful.” Perhaps Kitty had exaggerated; she had not found him so.

But the young people waiting in the office were not so hopeful.

“I believe he’s just keeping us waiting on purpose!” Kitty grumbled, as the moments went by and Mr. Hunt did not appear.

“We’ll lose our Latin,” Susy mourned.

“If that’s all we lose, we’ll be mighty lucky,” one of the boys told her.

“Kit’s lost her temper already,” Billy Slade remarked.

“Why didn’t he tell us he was going to take the class Friday afternoon?” his sister Debby protested. “Then we should have been all right.”

“Hush! he’s coming!” one of the other girls warned.

“Get out your hankys, young ladies!” Billy whispered. “Try and look as penitent as possible!” “I won’t!” Kitty declared. “I’m not sorry, and I won’t say I am!”

“You will before he’s through with you, my young friend,” Billy retorted.

Kitty tossed her red head defiantly, but a moment later even her courage wavered at sight of Mr. Hunt’s face.

For a moment he said nothing. Then, sitting down at his desk, he put one or two direct questions to each in turn. After which followed another short silence, broken only by the ticking of the clock, and from a room below, the sound of children chanting their multiplication table in unison.

“Twice two is four!” Debby found herself nervously repeating it with them under her breath. Would Mr. Hunt never speak!

She caught Susy’s eye; Susy was looking penitent enough to touch a heart of stone, Debby thought. So, for that matter, were most of the girls.

Debby began to realize that anything begun in haste might require repenting of at leisure.

And then Mr. Hunt pronounced sentence, prefacing it first with a few remarks, which, if brief, were none the less pointed.

He considered their recent conduct utterly inexcusable; it had involved not only a wilful and deliberate breaking of rules, but, in intention, great discourtesy and disrespect towards a gentleman who was a comparative stranger to them, and, in a sense, the guest of the class.

He should, therefore, suspend them in a body for one week; they could report to him, before school opened, next Monday morning; also, it being an implied condition that all competitors for the Sargent should be pupils in good standing, it was an open question whether or no they would have the right to try for it. He would decide upon that later. They were dismissed.

Out in the yard, fourteen very crestfallen young people looked at each other in dismay.

Not to be allowed to try for the Sargent! Each of the fourteen felt an immediate and strong conviction that he or she would have been among the prize winners.

To be suspended for a whole week!

Ruth mopped her eyes openly. Oh, dear, what would her mother and father say!

“He certainly can do things up brown, when he sets out to,” Billy commented, a rueful note underlying his chuckle.

Kitty stamped her foot. “It isn’t fair! We had every right to do what we did—under the circumstances.”

“Except the right—to do it,” one of the boys commented.

“How everybody looks at us,” Hester sighed. “I suppose they’re wondering what we are all doing out of school at this time of the morning.”

“Probably they think we’re delegates to something or other,” Billy remarked, “chosen on account of good conduct.”

“Cut it!” one of his companions commanded.

“We did, once,” Debby laughed, “but we never will again.”

“It isn’t fair!” Kitty repeated; she hoped her father would see it in that light. “Come on home with me, Debby; at any rate, we sha’n’t have to study.”

“Aren’t you going to try and keep up with the class this week?” Hester asked.

Kitty shrugged. “Maybe—maybe not. I do wish Amanda Parker would go visiting for the week,” she confided to Debby, as they turned the corner together. “She’ll be mighty tiresome! She’s such an ‘I told you so’ sort of girl.”

“Isn’t it queer,” Debby said, “that Blue Bonnet, who dislikes school more than any of us do, hasn’t got to—”

“Don’t you mention Blue Bonnet Ashe to me!” Kitty broke in. “Horrid little prig!”

“You know better, Kitty Clark!”

“Then she’s a coward—and that’s even worse.”

“Alec says he knows she had some good reason.”

“Then it’s the first time she’s ever had a good reason for anything. Debby, listen—it’s as I told Amanda yesterday,—you’ve got to choose between us.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Kitty!”

Kitty sniffed; at that moment she resembled nothing so much as a porcupine with its quills all ready for action. “I mean it!” she insisted.

Debby herself was not in her calmest mood; inwardly she very much regretted that rash speech of hers which had set this particular ball rolling. She wasn’t going to be dictated to by Kitty Clark—who was largely to blame for the scrape they were in. “Then I choose Blue Bonnet,” she said.

“Naturally! She has so much more to offer.”

“In the way of sweet temper—I quite agree with you.”

Kitty slammed the front gate with an energy that brought her mother to the door. Mrs. Clark was something of an invalid, and her daughter had thought it as well not to trouble her with any account of Friday’s doings until she found out what the consequences were. And a particularly troublesome case had kept the doctor from reading the signs of the times.

But there was no keeping things back any longer, and Kitty went promptly to the heart of the matter, going into the subject with a fullness and a fluency that reduced her mother to the verge of hysterics.

“I don’t know what your father will say!” she cried, eying Kitty in mingled amazement and dismay. Girls never did such things in her day.

Kitty retired to the old swing on the side piazza. There was nothing to be ashamed of—they had only stood up for their rights. Try as she would, she could not shut out the sight of the pleasant, busy classroom, with Blue Bonnet sitting just in front of her. It had required some diplomacy to effect such an arrangement; Miss Rankin would never have allowed it. In her secret heart, Kitty had always felt that she stood just a little nearer to Blue Bonnet Ashe than any of the other club members.

But of course, all that was changed now. One could not be friends with a girl who—

Kitty gave the swing an impatient push. She was glad that she had not gone to the matinÉe with them on Saturday—though Alec had been mighty angry with her for holding out; Blue Bonnet should see that they were not all going to—

She was glad, too, that she had cut short Amanda’s enthusiastic account of the afternoon’s delights.

Kitty was not the only one of the fourteen to whom the thought of the classroom from which they had been exiled had grown suddenly very dear.

On the other hand, their fellow-pupils were giving no less thought to them. When recess came, and there was still no sign of them, excitement ran high, so did conjecture.

Blue Bonnet, standing alone quite at the lower end of the yard, wondered forlornly if all the recesses to come were to be like this? For the first time in her life, she had been cut, and by more than one schoolmate, and the experience had been far from pleasant.

Sarah, of them all, acted just as usual; but Sarah was—Sarah; Amanda was clearly on the fence—very well, she might stay there. Of her intimates among the French class, Ruth and Susy had been too absorbed in their own thoughts, during those few moments before school opened, to do more than say good morning. Debby had barely nodded, while Kitty had done neither.

It was Kitty’s attitude that hurt most. Alec had refused to give her Kitty’s reason for not accepting his invitation—as if she could not guess, and he had managed, for this time, to break down the sense of reserve and embarrassment between herself and the other girls. Besides, at the theatre one forgot other people.

But Sunday had not been easy; Blue Bonnet had come home from Sunday-school in hardly the state of mind her teacher—a gentle little body—would have rejoiced in. The talk with Grandmother in the twilight, and Aunt Lucinda’s few words of encouragement, had helped some. But to-day! And there would be all of April and May, besides the rest of March and part of June, before school closed.

Blue Bonnet turned to watch a group of children; they were playing “The farmer in the dell,” and Julia Blake beckoned invitingly to her to come make one of the big ring. Any of the little Blakes could have told you what a delightful playfellow Blue Bonnet was.

Blue Bonnet shook her head; at another time she would have gone readily enough, but no one should say she had been forced into finding friends among the “primaries.”

Sarah was crossing the yard towards her, while midway between Sarah and the open doors, Amanda halted, irresolutely.

“Oh, Blue Bonnet!” Sarah called.

Blue Bonnet stood still, her hands behind her. “Duty or choice?” she demanded, as Sarah came up.

Sarah looked puzzled.

“Did you come because you wanted to, or because you didn’t want to?”

“Why shouldn’t I want to?” Sarah looked really hurt.

Blue Bonnet slipped an arm about her. “Sarah, you dear, I might’ve known you wouldn’t go back on me.”

“I don’t think the others have—truly; you see, from their side of it, it does almost seem as if you hadn’t played—quite fair. But I’m sure you must’ve had some reason, and if you would tell me what it was, I could—explain.”

For a moment Blue Bonnet hesitated; so far as she knew, only Grandmother and Aunt Lucinda—excepting, of course, Mr. Hunt—knew why she had not gone with her class. Then she drew herself up; if they couldn’t take her on trust—as Alec and Sarah had—

“Is that what you wanted me for?” she asked.

“Partly; but I thought you might like to hear about the rest. Miss Fellows just told me they are suspended for a week—”

“It seems to me that that is what you might call putting a premium on crime,” Blue Bonnet commented; a whole week’s vacation—which is what it would really amount to.

“Blue Bonnet!”

“Is that all Mr. Hunt did?”

“All!” Sarah gasped. “It’s about as bad as it can be; but, in addition, they may not be allowed to try for the Sargent.”

“I suppose they will mind that—after worrying so to get their subjects, but I reckon only Hester stood any chance—among the girls.”

Sarah looked utterly bewildered. “Blue Bonnet, you are so—”

“So what? There’s the bell!” All in all, Blue Bonnet found that week a long one; she drew a deep breath of relief when Friday afternoon came.

Ruth and Susy had not been in town since Monday, and she had seen nothing of them. Debby, when she had met her on the street, had been fairly friendly; that she had not been more so, was perhaps as much Blue Bonnet’s fault as hers. Kitty would have been openly unfriendly had Blue Bonnet given her the opportunity. Amanda was still on the fence.

There had been no difference in Sarah’s manner; and Alec was just as usual, but seeing much of Alec meant seeing more or less of Boyd, and Blue Bonnet, try as she might, could not like Boyd.

One bright spot, or rather three, the week had held for her; Mademoiselle had been able to take up her work again, and Mademoiselle had seemed to understand. She had asked no inconvenient questions, made no embarrassing references to the absent members.

For that matter, Miss Fellows had been mighty kind, too; when one came to think of it, all the grown-ups had behaved beautifully.

Nevertheless, it was a rather depressed Blue Bonnet who walked slowly up the broad street that Friday afternoon. She was homesick for the gay times, the old comradeship. The sight of those empty places in the classroom made her inexpressibly lonesome. There had been no Debby to signal messages to her right under Miss Fellows’ very nose, no Kitty to whisper provoking little speeches that simply had to be answered. That her deportment for the week had reached the high water mark gave small comfort; she would have willingly sacrificed any number of credit marks on the altar of good fellowship.

And next week it would probably be even worse.

In the meantime, what should she do with her afternoon? Alec had gone in town with his cousin; she might ride, but riding alone—from necessity—was horrid. Sarah’s patient old nag was only at Sarah’s disposal on Saturday afternoons.

“Grandmother,” Blue Bonnet asked, coming into the sitting-room, “may I have the phaeton?”

“Certainly, dear,” Mrs. Clyde glanced at the girl’s listless face a little anxiously. She, too, was glad the week was over; next week must be better.

“I might as well take Sarah driving. I don’t suppose Denham would trust me with both the horses.”

“Probably not.”

“And he’s sure to give me ‘Peter the Poke’!”

“Poor old Peter!” Grandmother laughed. “To think he should have lived to be spoken of in that fashion.”

“Sooner or later, we are apt to get what we deserve,” Miss Lucinda remarked. “Blue Bonnet, suppose you stop at Mrs. Morrow’s and find out when you are to go for your fittings?”

Blue Bonnet sighed. “It would save a heap of trouble, Aunt Lucinda, if we would just take a day off, and go in town and buy everything I need ready-made.”

“Perhaps, but saving trouble is not the chief end of man, my dear.”

“More than of most women, I reckon,” Blue Bonnet answered.

Miss Lucinda let that pass; she had let more than one thing pass the last week. “Don’t be late getting back,” she warned, as Blue Bonnet turned away. “Remember, Mr. and Mrs. Blake are coming to tea.”

“I’ll be on time,” Blue Bonnet promised.

Sarah looked both pleased and doubtful when Blue Bonnet, drawing up before the parsonage gate, called to her to get her hat and come on; but with her mother downing objections as fast as they were raised, there was nothing for it but to yield.

They went out along the turnpike, striking as brisk a pace as Peter would consent to,—which was not so brisk as to cause Sarah any very serious tremors,—turning off after a while into a winding country lane that had a pleasant, aimless air about it. Peter disapproved of that lane; he had a chronic objection to getting muddy and uncomfortable. If that headstrong young person at the other end of the reins had but consulted him first, he could have told her what a country lane was like at this season of the year.

But if it was muddy underfoot, it was delightful overhead, with the soft wind driving the fleeciest of white clouds across the bluest of Spring skies, and reminding Blue Bonnet of ships at sea. Gradually her face lost its troubled look, as she leaned back in the phaeton, her hat off, the little curls blown back from her forehead. Sarah was not a bad companion on a drive like this; Kitty would have fussed about going so slowly, but, after all, poor old Peter was doing his best.

She and Sarah were both inclined to be rather silent; school and club-meetings were both subjects to be avoided. Carita Judson proved a safe topic, Blue Bonnet had had a letter from her the other day; there was always the ranch.

Suddenly, Sarah found herself wishing that Blue Bonnet were not going back to it in June, she should miss her very much. It was too bad this school trouble had come up; perhaps now, Blue Bonnet would not want to return in the fall.

Sarah tried, not very successfully, to imagine what it would be like—doing just as one pleased.

“But,” her companion protested, as she voiced this thought, “I don’t!”

“You do—more than anyone I’ve ever known before. It’s queer, but it doesn’t seemed to have—spoiled you.”

Blue Bonnet laughed. “You are forgetting to make allowance for my naturally angelic disposition. I’m afraid Aunt Lucinda wouldn’t agree with you, though.”

“But you like it here?”

“I—did. You see, when one can’t do what one likes, one must like what one can do.”

“Y—yes,” Sarah agreed, wonderingly. “I never supposed you looked at things like that.”

“Another dream shattered?” Blue Bonnet laughed again. “Case in point; I’d like awfully to go on indefinitely along this jolly little lane, that doesn’t belong by right to Woodford at all—it’s so meandering and ambitionless—but instead, I’m going home.”

“It’s been a lovely ride,” Sarah answered; not so very long before she would have said—very pleasant.

It was not until she had left Sarah at her own gate that Blue Bonnet remembered her errand at the dressmaker’s.

Mrs. Morrow lived quite at the far end of the street, in a quaint, old-fashioned little house; altogether too pleasant, in Blue Bonnet’s opinion, to be the home of anyone who followed the trade of dressmaking, and gave people fittings.

The big tiger-cat, enjoying the evening on the doorstep, came down the path to meet Blue Bonnet, arching her back, and purring loudly; while in the doorway, Netty Morrow, Mrs. Morrow’s niece, was standing.

“My aunt’s been looking for you before this, Miss Blue Bonnet,” she said; “she’s gone out now—but you’re to come try on Monday afternoon without fail.”

“I did forget that last time, truly,” Blue Bonnet apologized.

Netty led the way into the sewing-room, picking up one of Blue Bonnet’s new skirts. “I should think you’d be feeling fine—having so many pretty things all at once.”

“But I don’t get them all at once! I wish dresses could grow from seeds!”

“Well of all the queer ideas!”

“Are you going out?” Blue Bonnet asked, as Netty took up her hat. “It’s lovely out.”

Netty pointed to several parcels lying on the table. “I have to take them home, Miss.”

“Could I leave them for you?”

The other looked surprised. But why not? It wouldn’t hurt Blue Bonnet to make herself a bit useful for once; they wouldn’t take her much out of the way, and it would leave Netty herself all the more time for her own new blouse.

“You are sure you don’t mind?” she asked.

“Of course I don’t,” Blue Bonnet answered. “We’d better put them into the phaeton box,” she added, as she and Netty and the parcels went down the box-bordered path together. She felt grateful to Netty for accepting her offer; it was good to be doing something for somebody, one didn’t feel so out in the cold.

“You’re quite sure you understand where they’re to go?” she heard Netty asking, and came back to things practical.

“Don’t you worry,” she laughed; “they’ll get there all right.”

“But you’ll have to do your best, Peter!” she warned, as they started, “or we’ll be late home.” And Peter, mindful of the nearness of the supper hour, did do his best.

“Blessed be back stairs!” Blue Bonnet told Solomon, as he scampered up ahead of her on her return home.

But if Blue Bonnet came down rather flushed and breathless, and not altogether on time, Mrs. Blake, arriving at that moment with her husband, was even more so. “I know we are late,” she apologized to Mrs. Clyde and Miss Lucinda, “but it was quite—unavoidable. I—I was detained—most unexpectedly—at the last moment.”

And in spite of Grandmother’s assurances that it did not signify in the least, Mrs. Blake continued to look flushed, and, it seemed to Blue Bonnet, disappointed. The next morning, Miss Lucinda came in to where Blue Bonnet was practising. “Denham found this in the phaeton box just now. Do you know anything about it?” She held out a flat parcel.

Blue Bonnet stared at the limp, brown-paper parcel as if spellbound. “Know anything about it!” she had caught the parcel from her aunt’s hand and was out of the room by now. “It’s Mrs. Blake’s new silk waist!” came back from the hall.

Then the front door slammed.