When Sarah opened her eyes, early the next morning, it was scarcely more than light. She was accustomed to spring out of bed before she was fully awake; there had been very little time in her life for the last, delicious nap of early morning. There was always the stock to be fed, the cows to be milked, and the milk to be taken to the creamery, and afterwards the twins to be roused and fed and sent to school. Since Laura's advent, life had been vastly easier, but the feeling of responsibility had not altogether vanished from Sarah's mind.

There was something about the happenings of the night before that sent her hurrying out of bed as she hurried when the fear of Uncle Daniel hung over her, when she used to get up before daybreak to assure herself that the twins and Albert and the farm property were all safely in place.

She could not at first make out where she was; then the prodigious chaos of the room recalled yesterday's experiences. And here was her own bed, pushed out a little from the wall, its covers all awry. She remembered now distinctly what had happened last night.

Ellen and Mabel slept peacefully in their double bed; and as she remembered her sudden downfall and their lack of sympathy, her face flushed. Snatches of their whispered talk, heard in drowsiness, came back to her, and she began slowly to guess that it was neither the carelessness of the school bedmakers nor her own light weight which had sent the spring and mattress tumbling to the floor. She felt a pang of fright as she remembered the stern teacher in the flowered gown. But surely, they would not punish her for an accident! Presently a faint smile lifted the corners of her mouth. There was no doubt that it had been funny. But the girls might have waited until she was a little more at home.

When she was dressed she sat down by the window. There was not a soul to be seen on the quiet campus, and not a sound to be heard. It was almost six o'clock, and she began to be hungry. She had forgotten to ask the breakfast hour.

After a while there were faint noises, the opening of a distant door, the sound of sweeping down on the walks, and then the ringing of a great hand-bell. Sarah heard it first in a far corner of the building, then it drew nearer and nearer, and she heard the swift steps of Eugene, who carried it. As it went past the door, she put her hands over her ears. She smiled again, thinking that a bell like that might wake even Albert and the twins.

She began to be a little alarmed when she saw that neither Ellen nor Mabel stirred. She thought that Mabel's eyes opened, but they closed again at once. Had the girls grown suddenly deaf, or were they ill? Sarah tiptoed toward the bed and stared at them. Both were breathing regularly. But it was time to get up, and they would not wish to be late for breakfast. Sarah laid her hand on Ellen's shoulder.

"Stand up. It belled. Ach!" No, thank fortune, they had not heard. Sarah took a deep breath and amended her speech. "The bell rang," she called. "It is time to get up."

Still Ellen did not respond, and she went to the other side of the bed and tried to rouse Mabel.

"It is time to get up!"

A sleepy and cross "What?" answered her.

"The bell rang. It is time to get up."

Mabel turned over on her other side.

"Let me be."

Once more Sarah sat down by the window. Why did these girls not wish to get up? Didn't they wish any breakfast? Didn't one have to get up? Perhaps they were like the twins, who were cross at first but grateful afterwards. She touched Ellen once more.

"It is time to get up."

Ellen sat up in bed.

"If you don't be quiet and stop bothering me I'll settle you. You needn't tell me when it's time to get up. I've been in this school for a year." With that she lay down again.

Once more Sarah sat down by the window. The great building was astir now. She heard doors open and shut, she heard girl call to girl, she heard Miss Ellingwood moving round in her bedroom, and still her room-mates slept. Then an electric bell rang, and motion and sound increased. Sarah started toward the door. She would inquire whether that was the signal for breakfast, and she would go down. But a sharp voice stopped her.

Ellen and Mabel had sprung out of bed as though tossed by springs.

"Sarah," commanded Mabel, "run down the hall and fill this pitcher."

A look of distress came into Sarah's black eyes.

"I am afraid I will be late."

"Nonsense! Hurry."

Sarah flew down the hall. She met a score of girls going toward the elevator, and they looked at her smilingly.

"You'd better hurry, youngster."

"Ach, I am!" answered Sarah.

To her amazement Ellen and Mabel were almost dressed when she returned. She would have set the pitcher down inside the door and then run, but Mabel called again.

"Wait a minute. You're too late now to get in without permission, and you don't know where to go for that. See whether you can find a blue belt in that pile."

Sarah's tears dropped upon the pile of collars and ties and belts.

"I would rather not go than be late," she said.

The girls laughed. Mabel took the belt from her hand and hung it over her arm, meaning to buckle it as she ran.

"All right, you little goose," she said; and then the door closed behind them with a slam.

Sarah was desperately frightened. Perhaps they called a roll and the absentees were punished. There was no one in sight in the hall from whom she could ask advice, and she began wearily to make her bed.

"Perhaps I will have to pack my trunk, too," she said to herself. "But if I do not know what to do and nobody will tell me, how shall I find out?"

She felt a thrill of both terror and relief when she heard a footstep in the hall. It came directly to the door, there was a rap, then the door was pushed open.

"Why, Sarah, don't you want any breakfast?"

Sarah made a brave effort to steady her voice.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then why don't you come down?"

"I—I was too late," stammered Sarah.

"Well, come now, and to-morrow morning you will begin a little earlier." Miss Ellingwood held out a kindly hand. "Won't you?"

Sarah stammered another "Yes, ma'am." She could not say that she had been up since five o'clock, because that would involve explanation, and she did not wish to be a tale-bearer.

She caught Ellen Ritter's eye as they went down between the long lines of tables, and Ellen grinned and nudged Mabel. But Sarah did not care. Some one was interested in her. Miss Ellingwood had left her breakfast and had come all the way upstairs to find her. She ate her breakfast cheerfully, answering shyly the remarks of her companions.

"Now, when the next bell rings, you must go to the chapel," said Miss Ellingwood. "Take a tablet and pencil with you, and then you can write down your classes for the day. And if you get into any difficulty, come to me. The bell will ring at eight o'clock, and you know where the chapel is."

At half-past seven Sarah took her tablet and two neatly sharpened lead pencils, and stole out of her room. Nobody should prevent her from being on time now. She went down quietly and opened the chapel door. Then she realized that she had forgotten the number of her seat. If she had such difficulty with little things, what would she do when lessons began?

Suddenly she remembered with a throb of relief the chandelier whose dripping she had feared. She sat down in a chair which was, as nearly as she could guess, the one she had occupied the night before, and bent her head back to look up. Yes, it was from this spot that she had seen the dangerous candles. She sighed thankfully, and proceeded to write her name on her note-books, and then to read the school catalogue, which gave a list of her lessons.

There would be Physiology, Arithmetic, Spelling, and Political Geography, to begin with. In each of these she would have three recitations a week, and she must pass an examination in them before the State Board at the end of the year in order to enter the Junior class. Besides, she would have less frequent lessons in Latin, History, and Grammar. In these branches she would not have to be examined, except by her teachers, until the end of her Junior year. Each week she would also have an hour's exercise in drawing and in vocal music. And every other day she would have to spend three quarters of an hour in the gymnasium. Sarah shook her head solemnly. It seemed like a large contract for so small a girl.

All the morning she went to classes, gaining in each room a new book, a new note on her tablet, and a redder flush on her cheeks. By noon the pile of books had grown almost to her chin. She carried them proudly across the campus and up to her room.

It was going to be hard, but not as hard as she had feared. She had naturally a quick mind, far quicker than she suspected. There were two branches in which she had a valuable advantage. Political Geography would be only a review. Her father had been a dreamer, loving accounts of strange cities and far countries, and in the long evenings after he had become ill, he and Sarah had pored over the atlas, following William on his long journey, and trying to picture the strange countries on the other side of the world. There were few countries which Sarah could not bound, few rivers and cities which she could not locate.

Nor would Spelling be hard. The Wenners were naturally good spellers; even little Albert could spell simple words like "cat" and "dog."

But there were Physiology and Arithmetic and History. The History had already given her a bad fright.

Professor Minturn, opening the course with a lecture on the interest and value of historical study, had suddenly looked about the class to find some one to read a paragraph from the text-book illustrating what he was saying. Sarah's face, bent eagerly forward, attracted him, and he asked her her name and told her to read. The color flamed into her cheeks, and with trembling hands she found her place in the book, and then rose. Instead of standing still, she walked to the front of the room, and, in a fashion learned before Laura had come to teach the Spring Grove School, "toed" carefully a crack in the floor, lifted her book to a level with her chin, and began.

"Page three, chapter one, paragraph four. 'The Study of History.'"

Wild laughter interrupted her, at which Professor Minturn frowned and sternly commanded silence. He was a nervous, easily irritated man, who never felt that his students worked hard enough.

"Go on, Miss Wenner."

Sarah read through the paragraph with a voice which she strenuously endeavored to make steady. It seemed to her that she had never seen so many th's and v's, which she was just learning to pronounce. But she got safely to the end, and then fled to her seat.

"I have never heard a paragraph read more intelligently," commented Professor Minturn grimly, thereby adding to her confusion.

Of all her lessons, Latin promised to be the most terrible.

"I will not talk to the twins again about learning them Latin," she said to herself, with a sigh. "But the teacher, he seems like a kind man. Perhaps he will help me sometimes a little."

In her room that afternoon, she handled the books as though they were loved dolls. Sarah had never really owned a book. The school-books from which she had studied had belonged to William, and now were used by the twins. If anything remained of them after the twins were through with them, they would go to Albert. But these were hers, they were new, she might write her own name in them, she might keep them all her life.

The confusion in her room worried her, but she turned her back upon it, and set resolutely to work. By the time that Ellen and Mabel came in to prepare for gymnasium she had learned her History lesson and discovered that she need not study her Spelling.

The period of gymnasium proved to be another surprise. To a girl who climbed to the upper rung of the barn ladder and the top of a tall hickory tree, and who could churn butter and drive a fractious horse, the simple exercises with wands and dumb-bells were child's play. She wished to get back to her work, she wished to touch again the clean, white books.

Ellen and Mabel laughed at her unmercifully. They had been in the Normal School for a year, and had learned and invented many ways of shirking. After supper they announced that they were going to straighten up the room, and for five minutes, during which they had scarcely made a beginning, they worked diligently. Then Ellen threw herself down on the bed, and declared that she was tired. For a few minutes there was a welcome silence, then Ellen began to giggle and got up and left the room. By the time she returned, Mabel had taken her place on the bed.

"Sarah," Ellen began pleasantly; and Sarah, marking the place in her book, looked up despairingly.

"What is it?"

"I met the bell-boy in the hall, and he said that your brother is here."

Ellen was frightened by the sudden terror on Sarah's face.

"My brother!"

"Yes. Oh, nothing is wrong. I think he is just here in town and wishes to see you. And there are people in the reception room, so Eugene will bring him up here in a few minutes. Mabel and I will go out."

Mabel got up quickly from the bed.

"Yes, of course."

Sarah rose to her feet.

"Ach, you needn't go! And"—she looked round the disorderly room—"couldn't we fix here a little up once?"

Ellen and Mabel shouted with laughter.

"There isn't time to fix here a little up once."

When the door was closed, Sarah looked about once more. She was frightened by William's coming, she was distressed that he should see such a room. Ellen and Mabel had not even made their beds. Those, at least, she would spread up. If he would only delay for a few minutes, she might make the room look presentable. She drew the curtain across the alcove where the washstands stood, and hung her room-mates' dresses in the closets. For an instant she was tempted to toss them in on the floor and shut the door on them. But Sarah had had too few nice dresses in her life to treat them roughly. The shoes were swept into the closets, the bureau drawers were filled and closed; then, as she heard a step in the hall, she smoothed her hair and went to the door.

"Wil—" she began, and then gasped. It was a man who stood without, but it was not William. No; it was not even a man. There was a fluffy tie above the collar of his rain-coat, his derby hat was pinned on with a hat-pin, the hand which he held out was decked with rings.

"What do you mean?" demanded Sarah, trembling.

"Aren't you glad to see me?" giggled Ellen.

"Where is my brother William?"

"I am your brother William. I—Why, look at this room! She has put it all in order! Mabel!"

There was a burst of wild laughter, then the two girls ran down the hall to return the clothes to the girl to whose brother they belonged. "I never knew such a joke."

Sarah went inside and shut the door. Then she locked it and stood with clenched hands. It was cruel to play such a trick. They had frightened her, and now she was desperately disappointed. And she had lost at least a half-hour, and it was only two hours until the lights were put out. She would not let the girls come in again; they would not study, they might visit their friends. With shaking hands she opened her books.

But she could not study. She heard another burst of laughter. Probably they were telling the other girls about it, and they were laughing at her.

Presently her heart ceased to beat so rapidly and she settled down to work once more. Perhaps they would not come back. She knew that it was against the rules to go from room to room during study-hours, but they did not keep rules.

"'Man is the only living creature that can stand or walk erect,'" she began aloud. "'Man is the only living creature that can stand or walk erect. The human skeleton—'"

The knob was softly turned; then there was a knock at the door. Sarah did not answer.

"Let us in, Sarah."

Still Sarah made no response.

"Open the door, Sarah."

"No, I am not going to open the door," cried Sarah shrilly. "You can just stay out."

A long silence succeeded. She settled again to her work.

"'Man is the only living creature that can stand or walk erect. The human skeleton—'"

When there was another knock at the door, Sarah started up furiously.

"You can knock all night and I won't let you in," she shrieked. "You are all the time after me, you—"

Again the knob was turned. She did not realize that the voice which bade her unlock the door was lower and softer than those to which she had been listening. She was too angry to distinguish one voice from another. The girl who had withstood the persecutions of an Uncle Daniel would not endure forever the teasing of two girls of her own age. She seized her pitcher from the stand. Not without much spilling of water on floor and bed, she climbed to the footboard.

"Will you go 'way, then!"

"Sarah, open the door."

"I won't." And Sarah turned the pitcher upside down, its mouth protruding from the transom. There was a splash, a quick exclamation, and then a stern command.

"Open this door, or I shall send for the principal."

Sarah moved but slowly, not from choice now, but from fright. A terrible, unbelievable suspicion entered her mind. It seemed that her hand would never be able to turn the key in the door, that strong little hand, which lifted so easily the great, brimming pitcher. If it had been the teacher who lived downstairs, the cross teacher with the flowered dressing-gown, she could have endured it. If it had been the principal himself, it would not have been so terrible. But standing on the threshold, wiping the water from her eyes, and with dripping hair and soaking shirt-waist, stood Miss Ellingwood.

Behind her, Ellen Ritter and Mabel Thorn twisted their faces to keep from exploding in shocked and delighted laughter, and down the hall, doors were opening and excited voices asked what was the matter.