She was surprised to find the school-room door a little ajar, but she
entered the room without hesitation, and, dark as it was, soon found her
desk, and the book of poems lying on the top. Hester was about to return
when she was startled by a little noise in that portion of the room where
the first class girls sat. The next moment somebody came heavily and
rather clumsily down the room, and the moon, which was just beginning to
rise, fell for an instant on a girl's face. Hester recognized the face of
Susan Drummond. What could she be doing here? She did not dare to speak,
for she herself had broken a rule in visiting the school-room. She
remained, therefore, perfectly still until Susan's steps died away, and
then, thankful to have secured her own property, returned to her bedroom,
and a moment or two later was sound asleep.

CHAPTER XXX.

"A MUDDY STREAM."

In the morning Dora Russell sat down as usual before her orderly and
neatly-kept desk. She raised the lid to find everything in its place--her
books and exercises all as they should be, and her pet essay in a neat
brown paper cover, lying just as she had left it the night before. She
was really getting quite excited about her river, and as this was a
half-holiday, she determined to have a good work at it in the afternoon.
She was beginning also to experience that longing for an auditor which
occasionally is known to trouble the breasts of genius. She felt that
those graceful ideas, that elegant language, those measured periods,
might strike happily on some other ears before they were read aloud as
the great work of the midsummer holidays.

She knew that Hester Thornton was making what she was pleased to term a
poor little attempt at trying for the same prize. Hester would scarcely
venture to copy anything from Dora's essay; she would probably be
discouraged, poor girl, in working any longer at her own composition; but
Dora felt that the temptation to read "The River," as far as it had gone,
to Hester was really too great to be resisted. Accordingly, after dinner
she graciously invited Hester to accompany her to a bower in the garden,
where the two friends might revel over the results of Dora's
extraordinary talents.

Hester was still, to a certain extent, under Dora's influence, and had
not the courage to tell her that she intended to be very busy over her
own essay this afternoon.

"Now, Hester, dear," said Dora, when they found themselves both seat