ou would think less of your own degradation, Hazel, and more of
mine," said Mrs Thorne, "I think it would be far more becoming on your
part."

It was breakfast-time, and, hot-eyed, feverish, and weary, Hazel was
trying to force down a few morsels of dry bread as she sipped her weak
tea.

She made no reply, but was working hard to find some solution of the
difficulty in which she found herself, but could see none.

One thing was evident to her, and that was the fact that she must take
the full blame of the pence being missing, and undertake to pay it out
of her next half-year's salary. It was impossible for her to accuse her
mother, and she could think of no relatives who would advance the money.
Her head ached violently, and she was suffering from a severe attack of
lassitude that deadened her brain-power making her ready to go back to
her bed and try to forget everything in sleep.

But there was the day's work to meet and at last, in a dreary, hopeless
spirit, she went to the school, seeing Mr Chute on his way to the
duties of the day, and meeting his eye, which was full of an ugly,
malicious expression, that made her shrink and feel that she had indeed
made this man her enemy.

The children were more tiresome than usual, or seemed to be, and it was
only by a great effort that she was able to keep her attention to the
work in hand.

At another time she would not have noticed it, but now every tap at the
schoolhouse door made her start violently, and think that it was the
churchwarden, Mr Piper, come for the school pence.

"A guilty conscience needs no accuser," she thought to herself, as she
set to once more trying to see her way to some solution of her
difficulty, but always in vain; and at last she found herself letting
the trouble drift till it should find bottom in some shallow shoal or
against the shore, for nothing she could do would help her on.

The only thing she could hit upon was to say to the churchwarden that
she would bring him up the money shortly, and in the meantime she might
find out some means of raising it wishing the while that the jewellery
of which she once had a plentiful supply was still her own.

She could think of no other plan, and was drearily going on with her
work, when there came a loud tap from one of the lower classes, presided
over at that time by Feelier Potts, and followed by a howl.

"What is that?"

"Please, teacher, Feely Potts hit me over the head with a book."