did Philip of Macedon come from, Miss Montfort?"

"I don't know," said Peggy.

"Oh, I think you do," said Miss Cortlandt, with a pleasant smile, and
checking, with a warning glance, the rising giggle.

"Try again, Miss Montfort. Philip the Great, Philip of Macedon,--where
did he come from? Surely you can tell me!"

"I don't know," said Peggy, doggedly; and at the moment she actually did
not.

"My dear child," said the teacher, "did you ever hear what was the
colour of Washington's gray mare?"

"No, ma'am," said Peggy.

"Well, what was it?"

"I don't know."

Emily Cortlandt had graduated from college the year before. She laid
down her pencil, and looked very kindly at the distracted girl.

"I think you are not feeling well, Miss Montfort," she said. "Does your
head ache?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Peggy. She could not have said another word; her
whole strength was needed to keep back the flood of tears that was
rising, rising.

"You need not stay through the lesson," Miss Cortlandt went on, and the
sympathy in her voice only brought the flood higher and nearer.

"You can make up the lesson to me some other time. Now, you would better
go and lie down for a little, and then take a turn in the fresh air.
Miss Bangs, what was the date of Philip's first invasion?"

Peggy never knew how she got out of the class-room. She longed to give
at least a grateful look at the kind soul who had saved her, but her
eyes were already swimming in tears. She fled along the corridor,
sobbing hysterically, blinded with tears, conscious of only one thing,
the desperate resolve to get to her room, before she broke down
altogether. Flying thus around a corner, she rushed headlong into a
group of girls who were gathered around something, she could not tell
what. So violent was the shock that Peggy reeled and struck her head
sharply against the wall. This brought her to herself. She caught back
the sob on her lips, and dashed the tears from her eyes before any one
saw them,--or so she hoped; then she looked to see what was going on.
Next moment she had forgotten that there were such things as tears in
the world.

There were six or eight girls in the group, mostly sophomores, though a
few were freshmen. They were looking down at something--somebody--crouching
on the floor against the wall, and their laughter, checked for an instant
by Peggy's onset, broke out afresh. "Here's Peggy Montfort, just in time
to see the fun. Look, Miss Montf