hose cases where one has to fight one's
own battle alone."

"Then it _is_ a battle?" Martha inquired quietly.

"O, it's a battle, 'all right,'" laughed Claire mirthlessly, and before
Mrs. Slawson could probe her further, she managed to make her escape.

She did not wish to burden Martha with her vexations. Martha had
troubles of her own. Moreover, those that were most worrisome to Claire,
Martha, in the very nature of things, would not understand.

Claire's first few weeks at the Shermans' had been uneventful enough.
Radcliffe had found amusement in the novelty of the situation, had
deigned to play school with her, and permitted her to "make believe" she
was "the teacher." He was willing to "pretend" to be her "scholar," just
as he would have been willing to pretend to be the horse, if he and
another boy had been playing, and the other boy had chosen to be driver
for a while. But turn about is fair play, and when the days passed, and
Claire showed no sign of relinquishing her claim, he grew restless,
mutinous, and she had all she could do to keep him in order.

Gradually it began to dawn upon him that this very little person, kind
and companionable as she seemed, suffered under the delusion that he was
going to obey her--that, somehow, she was going to constrain him to obey
her. Of course, this was the sheerest nonsense. How could she make him
do anything he didn't want to do, since his mother had told her, in his
presence, that he was to be governed by love alone, and, fortunately,
her lack of superior size and strength forbade her _love_ from
expressing itself as, he shudderingly remembered, Martha's had done on
one occasion. No, plainly he had the advantage of Miss Lang, but until
she clearly understood it, there were apt to be annoyances. So, without
taking the trouble to make the punishment fit the crime, he casually
locked her in the sitting-room closet one morning. She had stepped
inside to hang up her hat and coat as usual, and it was quite easy,
swiftly, noiselessly, to close the door upon her, and turn the key.

He paused a moment, choking back his nervous laughter, waiting to hear
her bang on the panel, and clamor to be let out. But when she made no
outcry, when, beyond one or two futile turnings of the knob, there was
no further attempt on her part to free herself, he stole upstairs to
the schoolroom, and made merry over his clever exploit.

For a full minute after she found herself in darkness, Claire