at the vicar's sisters were coming down the
street, an observation which impelled him to make a quick retreat.

"There, go on," he said; "and mind and make haste back."

"Yes, sir, plee, sir, that's what teacher told me to do."

"Writing to Burge, eh?" said Mr Chute as he re-entered his school.
"That's to tell him that I spoke out to her yesterday. Ah! just let him
take her part and I'll soon give him a bit of my mind. She's carrying
on with him, is she? I know it as well as if I'd been told; but perhaps
I shall be one too many with all of them yet."

The next minute he was bitterly regretting that he had not detained and
read the letter, though he knew all the time that he dared not, and he
finished up for the present by having another peep at Hazel through the
slit above the shutter, expecting, as his brain suggested, that she
would be writing another letter, but only finding her busy with one of
the classes.

Meanwhile, with her cheeks flushed and eyes brightened at the escape she
had just had, Ann Straggalls stumped eagerly along to perform her
commission, but only to encounter the Lambent sisters, before whom she
stopped short compelling them also to stop or else turn off to right or
left, unless they were willing to fall over her. For, according to
traditional instruction at Plumton Schools, it was the proper thing for
every schoolgirl who met the vicar's sisters to make a bob to each, and
these two bobs Ann Straggalls diligently performed.

"Not in school, Straggalls?" said Rebecca, in a stern, inquisitorial
tone of voice.

"No, 'm, please, 'm. Teacher's sent me with a letter, 'm."

"Indeed!" cried Beatrice, thrown by excitement off her guard. "To Mr
Canninge?"

"No, 'm, please 'm; to Mr William Forth Burge, 'm."

"To Mr William Forth Burge!" cried Rebecca, excited in her turn. "What
is Miss Thorne writing to him for?"

"Please 'm, I don't know, 'm. Teacher said I was to take this letter,
'm, and I don't know any more."

"It is very strange, Beatrice," said Rebecca querulously.

"Strange indeed," replied her sister, who felt better on finding that
her suspicions were incorrect, and worse at having betrayed the bent of
her own thoughts, and not troubling herself about her sister's feelings
in the least.

"Ought we to do anything, Beatrice?" said Rebecca, whose fingers itched
to get hold of the letter.

"Do anything?" said Beatrice.

"Yes," said Rebecca in a low tone, unheard by Ann Stra