"I'd do it, and spend my last cent. But what is
there?" Then she paced the floor with her mincing little steps, now
quite nervous and flurried.

"Sister," said Miss Salisbury, doing her best to be quite calm, "it
isn't a matter of payment; for whatever we did, we never could hope to
replace that exquisite little vase. Miss Clemcy had pointed out to me
the fact that it was quite the gem in his collection."

"I know; I thought my heart would stop when I heard the crash." Miss
Anstice wrung her little hands together at the memory. "Oh, that
careless Lily!"

"Sister, pray let us look at this matter--"

"I am looking at it. I see nothing but that vase, smashed to pieces; and
I cannot sleep at night for fear I'll dream how it looked in those very
little bits."

"Sister--pray--pray--"

"And if you want me to tell you what I think should be done, I'm sure I
can't say," added Miss Anstice helplessly.

"Well, then, I must think," declared Miss Salisbury, with sudden energy,
"for some repayment must surely be made to him, although they utterly
refused it when you and I called and broached the subject to them."

"It was certainly a most unfortunate day from beginning to end," said
Miss Anstice, with a suggestion of tears in her voice, and a shiver at
the remembrance of the front breadth of her gown. "Sister, I hope and
pray that you will never have another picnic for the school."

"I cannot abolish that annual custom, Anstice," said Miss Salisbury
firmly, "for the girls get so much enjoyment out of it. They are already
talking about the one to come next year."

"Ugh!" shuddered Miss Anstice.

"And anything that holds an influence over them, I must sustain. You
know that yourself, sister. And it is most important to give them some
recreations."

"But _picnics!_" Miss Anstice held up her little hands, as if quite
unequal to any words.

"And I am very sorry that we were out when Mr. Clemcy and his sister
called yesterday afternoon, for I am quite sure I could have arranged
matters so that we need not feel under obligations to them."

Miss Anstice, having nothing to say, kept her private reflections
mournfully to herself; and it being the hour for the boarding pupils to
go out to walk, and her duty to accompany them, the conference broke up.

"Polly," called Mrs. Chatterton, as Polly ran past her door, her opera
glasses Grandpapa had given her last Christmas in the little plush bag
dangling from her arm, and a happy