ther the sowing game, Isabelle. Lead the girls out. This is a game thy
daughter invented, Mr. Bryce, and which we love to play."

Isabelle, thus adjured, stepped forth, swept the enemy with a glance and
took command. It was really a sort of a dance, whirling and circling and
sowing seed in pantomime. Usually it was a wild, laughing happy
affair--with antics and pranks extemporaneously introduced--but to-night
it was as forced and funereal as a chorus of grave diggers. Mr. Bryce
murmured appreciation, Mrs. Benjamin looked her question to her husband,
who shook his head.

After what seemed to Wally ages of torment and a hundred miles or so of
action, they went back to the school and to bed. Reminded by Isabelle,
he arranged for an early start, and then Wally's part in the episode was
closed.

But Isabelle's troubles had just begun. Peggy was in bed when she
entered their room, and Isabelle was sure she was awake although her
face was toward the wall, and no answer to questions passed her lips.
Isabelle hurried to put out the light, but when she was in bed, whispers
seemed to surround her, fingers to point at her, out of the dark. She
turned the situation over and over in her mind. She had spared Wally the
truth, but she herself must face it. Unless she could think of a way to
explain her fairy stories to the girls, her position as leader in that
school was lost. She invented this explanation and that, only to discard
them. It seemed as if only her death could solve the problem, and she
felt that to be extreme, in the circumstances.

She turned and tossed and agonized for hours, to fall, finally, into a
troubled sleep, beset by dreams of herself, as a sort of pariah,
wandering through her school days, on the edge of things.

The next day brought no soothing surprise. Cold nods of good-morning
greeted her, groups of whispering critics edged away from her
contaminating presence. Even Peggy, the faithful, had gone over to
the enemy. The nervous strain of the day told on her, and when she
made a bad mistake in a recitation the class tittered.

"Why, girls," said Mr. Benjamin in surprise, "it is not courteous to
laugh at a mistake."

Evening brought Isabelle to a state of complete despair. The heavens had
not opened to save her this time. She was to expiate in full. . . . Then
she rose to new heights. She determined to make full confession and
demand a public sentence. She would make herself suffer to the full
extent.