r beneath the other girls
in the school; but when Mrs Drummond whispered to her, 'I have come on
a matter of awful importance, and I'll thank you to conduct the Lord's
Prayer and the hymns and the other religious exercises, and _then_ you
'll know why I have come.'

This was such a very remarkable speech that Mrs Macintyre bowed stiffly
and offered the good lady a chair.

Prayers were conducted as usual, the girls singing and joining in the
Lord's Prayer. Then Mrs Macintyre made a brief petition that God
Almighty might help her and her teachers and her beloved pupils to work
harmoniously through the hours of the week just beginning.

The moment she rose from her knees, she was about to dismiss the pupils
to their different tasks, when Mrs Drummond, tall and gaunt, stood up
and waved a menacing hand.

'One moment, girls; I have something to say to you, or, rather, my
young daughter has something to say, which is in the nature of a black
confession. It relates principally to herself and a girl in this
school called Hollyhock. She has now to go through an awful
confession, which will hurt her more than a little; but if she holds
nothing back, her immortal soul may be saved in the Great Day. But
there is _another_ who has sinned far deeper than my Meg, and I leave
it to Mrs Macintyre to settle with her by expelling her from this
school. Now then, Meg, think of the Judgment Seat and tell your tale.'

Meg, who would be precisely like her mother at her mother's age, now
stood up, flung a vindictive glance at Hollyhock, and began her story.

'I was drawn into it. That Hollyhock had a way with her, and I was
drawn in. I consented to an awful sin. It has lain on my conscience
until I felt nearly mad. Well, Mrs Macintyre and my dear teachers and
you girls, listen and beware. You may recall a certain night when
there was great agitation in this school, because it was said that the
poor ghostie had walked. The thought of that ghostie nearly drove an
English girl out of her mind; but I am prepared to clear up the matter.

'Now for the true story. The ghost was no ghost. It was me, my own
self, who, ruled by Hollyhock there, went into what we call the ghost's
hut, and allowed myself to be chalked and then blackened with charcoal
on the hands and face so as to look like a skeleton, and then wrapped
in a cloak of the Camerons, and my hair tied up tight, and a peaked hat
put on me over a wig which had been flung into