nt me to turn stupid because
I may get conceited."

"No, dear; I want you to be natural. I want you to try very hard to be
learned, to be good, to be a lady. I want you to be the sort of woman
your mother would have wished you to be had she lived. I want you to grow
up strong in mind and strong in body. I want you to be unselfish. I want
you to look upon life as a great gift which you must not abuse, which you
must make use of. I want you, Paulie, and your sisters to be the best in
every sense of that great word. You will fail. We all fail at times; but
there is forgiveness for each failure if you go to the right and only
source. Have I said enough?"

"Yes," said Pauline in a low voice.

Her conscience was pricking her. She lowered her eyes; the long black
lashes trembled with tears. Miss Tredgold stooped and kissed her.

"I hear Briar in the garden," she said. "I will send her up to you. Be as
merry as you please with her, and forget my words for the present."

Pauline got up in time for late dinner. She was, of course, excused
wearing her dinner-blouse, and was still treated somewhat as an invalid.
But on Sunday morning she was so much better that she was able to wear
her white dress, and able also to join her sisters in the garden.

They all went to the pretty little church in the next village, and Miss
Tredgold accompanied them.

Looking back on it afterwards, that Sunday always seemed to Pauline like
an exquisite dream of peace. Her lie did not press at all against her
heart. The discomfort of it was for the time in abeyance. She tried to
forget Miss Tredgold's ideal girl; she was happy without knowing why. She
was happy, but at the same time she was quite well aware of the fact that
her happiness would come to an end on Sunday night. She was quite certain
that on Monday morning her grave and terrible troubles would begin. She
would have to see Nancy. She would have to decide with regard to the
midnight picnic. There was no joy for Pauline in the thought of that
picnic now, but she dared not stay away from it, for if she did Nancy
would have her way. Nancy's temper, quick and hot as a temper could be,
would blaze up. She would come to Miss Tredgold and tell her everything.
If it had been awful to Pauline's imagination to think of Miss Tredgold
knowing the truth before, what would it be to her now after the lie she
had told?

"I must coax Nancy," thought the little girl to herself. "I must tell her
that I c