ld have deceived her.

"Chrystobel!"

There was no mistaking that sound. Should she answer? Chrystobel, too,
had passed a very uncomfortable evening, and found bed far from
agreeable. Away from her mother for the first time, she was battling
with pangs of homesickness as well as with her conscience, for she had
suddenly come to realize just how selfish her acts must have seemed not
only to the queer little girl, who was to share this room with her, but
also to the white-haired principal, whom she wanted to love her. But
fear that Tabitha would only say something to make matters worse held
her silent when she heard the whispered name from the bed by the window.

"Chrystobel!"

The voice was not only insistent, but pleading, and the elder girl
lifted herself somewhat impatiently on her elbow, as she muttered
ungraciously, "Well?"

"I was afraid you would be asleep," came the relieved reply. "Say,
Chrystobel, I'm sorry I got mad this afternoon. Maybe if I had had more
patience I could have shown you just how selfish you were without all
that fuss and squabble. Will you forget the hateful things I said and be
friends with me? You can have both big drawers and twenty-one hooks in
the closet if you want them."

Chrystobel gasped, overcome by mingled emotions. Surprise, anger, regret
in turn filled her heart, and for a moment she was silent because the
lump in her throat choked her.

Tabitha, misconstruing the deep pause, began again anxiously, "I've got
the worst temper in seven counties. I reckon it's my name; I have always
hated it, but that doesn't help matters any. I am always sorry after I
get mad like that, but it is awfully hard to say so. I never know how to
say it so the other person will believe me. But I really mean it,
Chrystobel. I am sorry I was so horrid to you. We ought to be friends,
and then you could help me keep from getting mad, and I could help you
not to be such a pig. Will you, Chrystobel?"

"Well," breathed her astounded room-mate, "you are the queerest girl I
ever saw, and you say the oddest things. I--I don't know what to think."

"I don't mean to say odd things. I am truly sorry, and I wish you would
believe me."

The plaintive voice was too much for the haughty Chrystobel, and with a
quick spring she scrambled out of bed and groped her way to where
Tabitha lay curled under the covers, saying with more real feeling than
her companion had given her credit for, "I do believe you, and I am