ling, and I _hope_ she hasn't found out about the slippers, and that
you will be the one to go to England."

And yet it must have been Joan, for Peggy would certainly have confessed
had it been she.

Millicent walked slowly homeward. The French teacher was awaiting her,
and her singing master was to come directly afterward, but her lessons
did not receive very close attention that day.

In the mean time Peggy was left with her cousin.

"I am astonished at Millicent," said Miss Briggs, as the door closed. "I
always suspected that she was silly, but I never supposed she could be
impertinent. I shall not mention it in the family, Margaret, and I shall
be obliged to you if you will not either. I would not for the world have
either her father or yours know what--what she has said about me."

Still, Peggy was strangely silent. She was glad that it was not to be
told. She had less compunction about not confessing if the family were
not to know it. Now they would merely think it a whim of Cousin
Appolina's that she was the one chosen for the voyage.

She did not enter with great heartiness into the plans for the summer,
and Miss Briggs soon dismissed her.

"But come in again at five o'clock and have some 'cakes and tea,'" she
said, with great meaning. "My poor cakes and tea! Oh, it was outrageous!
I shall never pardon Millicent."

So Peggy went home, or rather to her uncle's house, for the girls shared
the school-room there. After lessons were over, and they were left alone
together, Peggy broke the silence.

"Did you write those lines to Cousin Appolina, Mill?"

"No; of course not, Peggy. It must have been Joan."

"Do you really think so?"

"Yes; and I feel dreadfully about it. Not so much because I will lose
the trip, but because she has been so deceitful. I can't understand it.
To think, too, of your being the one to go, after all."

"But why didn't you tell Cousin Appolina that you didn't write it?"

"It wasn't worth while. I knew it must have been either you or Joan, and
I thought if you did it you would say so. If Joan did it--well, Peggy, I
didn't want to. I feel dreadfully about Joan's having done it. I shall
talk to the child, and-- But I can't bear to think she did it, and I
would rather have Cousin Appolina think it was I than little Joan."

"You are very generous," said Peggy.

"No, I am not. I shouldn't be the one to go, anyhow. Of course the whole
thing is terribly dishonorable, but I must save J