come? I came all the way from Ohio."

"Oh! no, I don't think so!"

"It took me all day to get here. It's horrid travelling alone, don't you
think so?"

"Oh! I--don't know! I never travelled."

On the whole, the girl seemed so distressed that Peggy felt it would be
a cruel kindness to pursue the conversation. "I needn't talk to the
others," she said to herself. "They came before I did; they can talk to
me if they want to."

But now supper was over, and the girls rose with a whirr, like a flock
of pigeons, and fluttered out of the dining-room. Peggy looked longingly
after Bertha Haughton; indeed, Bertha seemed to be lingering, looking
for her; but at that moment two or three girls swooped down upon the
junior, and began a hubbub of questions. Peggy felt all her shyness
rushing back in a flood. Turning to flee, she almost fell over little
Miss Parkins, who was hastening on her way, too. "Come!" said Peggy. "We
are both strange cats; suppose we stay together! What happens now, do
you know? This is my first evening here. It's awfully queer, isn't it?"

"Oh!" gasped Miss Parkins. "They--she--read something last night. Don't
you think I might go to my room? I want to go to my room! Don't you
think I might?"

"Of course you may!" said Peggy, on fire with sympathy. "It's a pity if
you've got to hear reading when you don't want to. Cut along, young
'un!"

Her brother's familiar phrase rose naturally to her lips; it was
unfortunate that at that moment one of the teachers happened to pass by.
She was a long, sallow woman, with greenish eyes set too near together,
and the gaze she fixed upon Peggy was appalling in its severity.

"Young ladies are required to attend the reading!" she said. "Your
expression is an improper one, Miss Montfort!" and pinching her lips
together she passed on.

"My goodness gracious me!" whispered Peggy. "Who is that?"

"Oh! hush! oh, don't!" whispered Lobelia Parkins, miserably. "She's
going to read to-night, because the Principal has a cold; I heard them
saying so. That is Miss Pugsley!"

CHAPTER III.

IN THE "GYM."

Peggy's pillow was quite damp when she went to sleep that night. To be
sure she had been cheered by a friendly call from Bertha Haughton, but
even that could not keep the homesickness from triumphing, when she was
left alone, and the sounds in the corridor died away, and the light was
out. Home seemed so far, so endlessly far away; she felt so utterly
alone in the w