der if you'll help me with my algebra in French class,' began
the latter, beaming upon her former enemy with the air of one who was
conferring a favour. 'I always get in such a bog over it.'

'You're so splendid at algebra, Babs, aren't you?' added another, with
great warmth.

'She's good at lots of things! She'll get to the top of the Fifth in no
time, won't she?' cried Angela, with her ordinary disregard for facts.

'Oh, no,' said Barbara, earnestly. 'There's my spelling; you're forgetting
that.'

'Ye--es,' allowed Angela, unwillingly; 'but spelling isn't everything.'

'Should think not, indeed!' echoed the chorus of enthusiasts.

'And I don't know any arithmetic,' proceeded Barbara, desperately. It
really hurt her regard for truth to have all these absurd remarks made
about her.

'What's arithmetic?' demanded Angela, loudly.

'Only think of the piles of history you know!' chimed in some one else.

'Yes, indeed!' said the chorus.

'And Latin!' proclaimed another admirer.

'I--I wish you wouldn't,' murmured Babs, unhappily.

She could not think what had come over them all; and they made her feel
foolish. Fortunately, somebody noticed just then that she had finished
the bread and jam; and they all rushed off, jostling one another again
as they went, to find fresh provisions. Barbara seized the opportunity
to escape, dodged the placid bearer of the milk, and went in search of
Jean Murray. She had an uncommonly shrewd suspicion that Jean Murray was
somehow at the bottom of this new and irritating persecution.

She found her hidden away in a corner of the big dining-room, occupying
very much the position that Barbara herself had enjoyed until now. Her
appearance was dejected, and she looked as though the encouragement of
noble sentiments did not agree with her nearly so well as the strife
and wrangling in which she usually indulged. The truth was that her new
pose of friendliness was making her feel unpleasantly self-conscious; and
she was afraid of being laughed at by the big girls for having so meekly
accepted her late enemy for a friend. The big girls, of course, worried
themselves so little about the petty quarrels of the junior playroom,
that they had no more intention of laughing at her than Barbara had; but
it was impossible for so important a person as Jean Murray to realise
that. So she gave a guilty start when Barbara, heated, aggrieved, and
bubbling over with resentment, suddenly pounced upon her i