ht to act offended."

Soon after breakfast they were called into Miss Chilton's room, but to
their great relief found that she already knew what had happened, and
that they were to be questioned only about their own part in the affair.
So presently Gay passed out to her Latin recitation, and Lloyd wandered
around the room, waiting for the literature class to assemble.

Miss Chilton's room was the most attractive one in the Hall. It looked
more like a cheerful library than a schoolroom. Low book-shelves lined
the walls, with here and there a fine bust in bronze or Carrara marble.
Pictures from many lands added interest, and the wicker chairs, instead
of being arranged in stiff rows, stood invitingly about, as if in a
private parlour. There were always violets on Miss Chilton's desk, and
ferns and palms in the sunny south windows. The recitations were carried
on in such a delightfully informal way that the girls looked forward to
this hour as one of the pleasantest of the day.

This morning, to their surprise, instead of questioning them about the
topic they had studied, Romance of the Middle Ages, she announced that
she had a story which Madam Chartley had requested her to read to them,
and she wished such close attention paid to it that afterward each one
could write it from memory for the next day's lesson.

"I have a reason for wishing to impress this little tale indelibly on
your minds," she said, "so I shall offer this inducement for
concentrating your attention upon it: five credits to each one who can
hand in a full synopsis of the story, and ten to the one who can
reproduce it most literally and fully."

There was a slight flutter of expectancy as the class settled itself to
listen, and, opening the little green and gold volume where a white
ribbon kept the place, she began to read:

"Now there was a troubadour in the kingdom of Arthur, who, strolling
through the land with only his minstrelsy to win him a way, found in
every baron's hall and cotter's hut a ready welcome. And while the
boar's head sputtered on the spit, or the ale sparkled in the shining
tankards, he told such tales of joust and journey, and feats of brave
knight errantry, that even the scullions left their kitchen tasks, and,
creeping near, stood round the door with mouths agape to listen.

"Then with his harp-strings tuned to echoes of the wind on winter moors,
he sang of death and valour on the field, of love and fealty in the
hall, ti