"I wonder where they are," Pearl said to herself, as she looked anxiously out of the window of the school on Monday morning. The roads leading from the Purple Springs school lay like twisted brown ribbons on the tender green fields, but not a child, not a straw hat, red sweater, sun-bonnet; not a glint of a dinner-pail broke the monotony of the bright spring morning.

The farm-houses seemed to be enjoying their usual activity. The spielers among the hens were announcing that the day's business was off to a good start, with prospects never brighter, dogs barked, calves bawled, cow-bells jangled—there was even a murmur of talking.

"They are not dead," said Pearl, as she listened, bareheaded, at the gate, "not dead, except to me—but they are not going to let the children come!

"They have turned me down!"

At nine o'clock, a flash of hope lighted up the gloom that had settled on her heart. The Snider twins, two tiny black dots, side by side like quotation marks, appeared distinctly against the vivid green of their father's wheat field and continued to advance upon the school-house, until they were but half a mile away. Then, noticing that no one else was abroad, they turned about and retraced their steps in haste, believing it must be Sunday, or a holiday—or something.

They were quite right on the last guess. It was something. But not even the teacher knew just what. The school room was clammily, reproachfully silent, every tick of the elm clock which told off the time without prejudice, seemed to pile up evidence of a hostile nature.

Pearl's brows were knitted in deep thought, as she looked in vain down the sparkling roads. What was back of it all? What had she done, or failed to do? Why did no one want to give her board and shelter? This latest development—the boycott of the school—was of course a protest against her association with the woman of Purple Springs.

Pearl squared her shoulders and threw back her head. She remembered the advice she had given her young brothers, "Don't pick a fight. Don't hit harder than you need to—but when trouble comes, be facing the right way." She would try to keep her face in the right direction. Here was prejudice, narrowness, suspicion, downright injustice and cruelty—of this she was sure—there were other elements, other complications of which she had no knowledge. Peter Neelands had told her the Government was watching her, but she had not taken it seriously.

She began to wonder if the invitation to work in the Educational Department might not be a plan to get her safely out of the way until after the election. It seemed too absurd.

Life was not so simple and easy as she had thought, or was it true that the element of trouble was in her own mind. Did she attract trouble by some quality of heart or brain. But what else could she have done? Hadn't she told the truth and done what seemed right all the way? But to be turned down in her school—left alone—boycotted.

Pearl's depression, poignant and deep though it was, did not last long. There would be a way out—there was always a way out! She would be shown the way!

"They that are with us," said Pearl solemnly, struggling with a wave of self pity, "are greater than they that are against us. I wish I could get them all lined up and talk to them. There is no use in talking to them one by one—they won't listen—they're too busy trying to think of something to say back. But if I had them all together, I could make them see things—they would have to see it. They are positively cruel to Mrs. Gray, and the dear little Jim—and without cause—and they should be told. Nobody would be so mean—if they knew—even the old grandfather would feel sorry."

When ten o'clock came, and not one pupil had arrived, Pearl decided she would go over to the post-office for her mail. There would be a letter from home, and never before had she so much needed the loving assurance that she had a home where a welcome awaited her, even if the world had gone wrong. The Watson family would stand by her, no matter what the verdict of Purple Springs.

In addition to the home letter, with its reassuring news that four hens were set and the red cow had come in, and the boys had earned three dollars and fifteen cents on their gopher tails, and the twenty-fourth being a holiday. Jimmy would come over for her—in addition to this, there was a large square envelope from the city. The letter was from the Woman's Club, telling her that they were preparing a political play and wanted her to come at once to the city to take an important part. They had heard of her ability from Mr. Neelands. Would she please let them know at once?

A smile scattered the gloom on Pearl's face. Here was a way out. Would she go? To play an important part in a play? Would she go?

Pearl went down the road on light feet, to where Mr. Cowan, the Secretary, was ploughing stubble. Mr. Cowan was expecting a call, and dreading it, for in spite of careful rehearsing, he had been unable to make out a good case. He was an awkward conspirator, without enthusiasm, and his plain country conscience reminded him that it was a mean way to treat a teacher whom he—himself—had selected. But why hadn't she accepted the offer to go to the city, and get away from a neighborhood where she could not be comfortable. Naturally, he could not urge it—that would give away the whole game. But he could hardly keep from asking her.

He resolved to say as little as possible, when he saw her coming. There was no trace of either gloom or resentment in her face when she greeted him. Mr. Cowan was equally friendly.

"I want to ask you something, Mr. Cowan," said Pearl. "What is wrong with me? Why don't the people like me? What have I done?"

Mr. Cowan had stopped his team, and lifting the lines from behind his back, he wound them deliberately around the handles of the plow before speaking. His manner indicated that it was a long story.

"Well, you know what women are like. No one can reason with women, and they won't stand for you boarding with Mrs. Gray. They're sore on her—and don't think she's just what she should be—and—"

Pearl interrupted him:

"But, Mr. Cowan, even before I went there, there was something wrong. Why wouldn't they give me a boarding place? You thought that I could get a boarding place when you hired me. Come on, Mr. Cowan, you may just as well tell me—it's the easiest way in the end—just to speak out—it saves time. If you ask me not to tell—I won't."

George Cowan did not expect to be cornered up so closely, and in desperation he said what was uppermost in his mind:

"Why don't you take the offer to go to the city, that's a great chance."

He had forgotten to be discreet.

"I am going to," said Pearl quickly, "that's what I came over to tell you—I want to go. I wanted to ask you if it would be all right."

"Now you're talking," cried her trustee gladly—a great burden had been lifted from his heart. "Sure you can go—it would be a, shame for you to miss a chance like this."

In his excitement he hardly knew what he was saying. This was just what he had been hoping would happen. Wouldn't George Steadman be pleased! He had given out a delicate piece of work to be done, and it had been successfully managed.

"You were just fooling us by pretending you were going to board at Mrs. Gray's—weren't you? You knew all the time you were going to the city; You were just playing a joke on us—I know. Well the joke's on us all right, as the cowboys said when they hanged the wrong man."

George Cowan rubbed his hands; the whole world had grown brighter. The political machine was the thing—real team-play—that's what it was. It's hard to beat the machine—and the best of it all was, there was no harm done, and nobody hurt. She would be as safe as a church when she was in the employ of the Government—and in a good job too—away ahead of teaching. No government employee could mention politics. Some people thought women were hard to manage! but it just required a little brains—that was all. Diplomacy was the thing.

"You are sure you don't mind my going," said Pearl, "without notice?"

"Not a bit—and we'll be glad to have you back, say for the Fall term. I'll fix the salary too and make out your cheque for the full month. It wouldn't be right for us to stand in your way—of course you may not want to come back—but if you do just drop me a line. I suppose you will want to go home before you go into the city. I can take you over this afternoon in the car."

"Thank you, Mr. Cowan," Pearl said, "you are very kind. I'll be ready at one o'clock. But tell me—how did you know I had an invitation to the city? That was pretty clever of you."

Mr. Cowan was untwisting the lines from the plow handles preparatory to making another round. He suddenly remembered to be discreet, and winked one eye with indescribable slyness.

"A little bird whispered to me," he laughed.

At noon, when he told Mrs. Cowan about it, he said it was queer how that answer of his seemed to hit the teacher. She went away laughing, and he could hear her for fully a quarter of a mile kind of chuckling to herself.