ole in the back gate
and up the garden walk she hoped she would meet neither her
grandmother nor Heppy. The little bucket of blackberries no longer
seemed worth while, and she set it down near the apple tree, ran in
the side door, past her grandfather's study, and on up-stairs,
hoping she could get by the sitting-room without being seen.

But her hopes were in vain, for on the landing appeared her
grandmother. "Is that you, Marian?" she asked. "Where have you been
all day? Come in here and give an account of yourself."

For a second it was in Marian's thought to say that her nose was
bleeding and to make her escape to her room, change her frock and
then reappear, but she knew it was only putting off the evil day,
for the frock's condition would be discovered sooner or later; and
then she was a truthful child, and could not have brought herself to
make a false excuse, even though the outcome might have been better
for her. So she entered the sitting-room timidly and stood with
drooping head before her grandmother.

"Where have you been all day?" repeated her grandmother.

"Oh, didn't Mrs. Hunt tell you?" said Marian in a weak voice. "She
said she would. I've been blackberrying."

"With whom?"

"Some of the girls."

"Who gave you permission?"

"Why--why--Mrs. Hunt didn't think you would mind, and--and----"

"Blackberrying! I should think so," exclaimed Mrs. Otway. "What a
sight you are, all stained and scratched up. Go, wash your face and
hands."

"I did try to get it off at the spring," returned Marian more
cheerfully, hoping she was to be let off rather easily after all.

But she had not reached the door before her grandmother called her
back. "What in the world have you done to your frock?" she asked,
examining her costume in surprise.

"It got torn so and I was so ragged that Stella tore off the skirt,"
said Marian in faint explanation, "and--" she went on, "she thought
she would try to make my petticoat look like a frock; the spots are
blackberry juice; they aren't quite the same color, but we all
thought they looked pretty well, better than slits and snags."

"Then you have ruined not only your frock but your petticoat. Go to
your room and do not come out till I tell you. I will speak to your
grandfather and we will see what is to be done about this," said her
grandmother in such a severe tone that Marian felt like the worst of
criminals and crept to her room in dread distress.

She had not often