o make up with you and be more friendly than ever."

Mrs. Singer began to read, and Ada saw it was useless to pursue the
subject. She left the room undecidedly, her lips pressed together. All
right, let Lucy befriend Alma. She wouldn't _look_ at her, and they'd just
see which would get tired of it first.

This hard little determination seemed to give Ada a good deal of comfort
for the present, and she longed for to-morrow, to begin to show Lucy Berry
what she had lost.

Meanwhile Alma Driscoll had hastened home to an empty cottage, where she
threw herself on the calico-covered bed and gave way again to her hurt and
sorrow, until she had cried herself to sleep.

There her mother found her when she returned from work. Mrs. Driscoll had
plenty of troubles of her own in these days, adjusting herself to her
present situation and trying hard to fill the position which her old friend
Mr. Knapp had found for her. Alma knew this, and every evening when her
mother came home from the factory she met her cheerfully, and had so far
bravely refrained from telling of the trials at school, which were big ones
to her, and which she often longed to pour out; but the sight of her
mother's face always silenced her. She knew, young as she was, that her
mother was finding life in the great school of the world as hard as she was
in pretty Miss Joslyn's room; and so she kept still, but her eyes grew
bigger, and her mother saw it.

To-day when Mrs. Driscoll came in, she was surprised to find the house
dark. She lighted the lamp and saw Alma asleep on the bed. "Poor little
dear," she thought. "The hours must seem long between school and my coming
home."

She went around quietly, getting supper, and when it was ready she came
again to the bed and kissed Alma's cheek.

"Doesn't my little girl want anything to eat to-night?" she asked.

Alma turned and opened her eyes.

"Guess which it is," went on Mrs. Driscoll, smiling. "Breakfast or supper."

"Oh, have you come?" Alma sat up. She clasped her arms around her mother.
"Please don't make me go to school any more," she said, the big sob with
which she went to sleep rising again in her throat.

"Why, what has happened, dear?" Mrs. Driscoll grew serious.

"I don't want to tell you, mother, only please let me stay at home. I'll
study just as hard."

"You'd be lonely here all day, Alma."

"I want to be lonely," returned the little girl earnestly.

Mrs. Driscoll looked very sober. "Let's