the report was
circulated that Alma Driscoll was up on the platform laughing and talking
with the teacher and eating lunch with her in the cosy corner.

Miss Joslyn insisted on exchanging a part of her lunch for Alma's,
spreading the things together on the white napkin, and chatting so eagerly
and gayly that the little girl's face beamed. She soon told the teacher
about the good news that came after she left the night before, and Miss
Joslyn was very sympathetic. "It's a pretty nice world, isn't it?" she
asked, smiling.

"Yes'm, it's just a lovely world to-day, only--only there's one thing, Miss
Joslyn."

"What is it?"

"I think Lucy Berry and Ada Singer have had a quarrel."

"Oh, the inseparables? I guess not," the teacher smiled.

"Yes'm. The worst is, I think it's about me. Could I go out in the
dressing-room to get my handkerchief, and see if they're on their usual
window-sill?"

"Yes, indeed, if it will make you feel easier."

So Alma went out and soon returned. Lucy and Ada were not on their
window-sill. Each was sitting with a different group of girls.

Miss Joslyn saw the serious discomfort this gave her little companion, and
persuaded her away from the subject, returning to the congenial theme of
Mr. Driscoll's new prospects.

But as soon as recess was over, Alma's thoughts went back to Ada Singer,
for she felt certain that whatever had happened, Ada was the one to be
appeased. The child could not bear to think of being the cause of trouble
coming to dear, kind Lucy.

When school was dismissed, Ada Singer, her head carried high, put on her
things in the dressing-room within a few feet of Lucy, but ignoring her
presence. "I love her," thought Lucy, "and she does love me. Nothing can
cheat either of us."

Ada went out without a look, and waited at the head of the stairs for Frank
Morse. Alma Driscoll hastened up to her.

Ada drew away. Alma needn't think that because she had shared Miss Joslyn's
luncheon she would now be as good as anybody.

"Can I speak to you just one minute?" asked the little girl so eagerly, yet
meekly, that Ada turned to her; but now that she had gained attention, Alma
did not know how to proceed. She hesitated and clasped and unclasped her
hands over the gingham apron. "Please--please"--she stammered, "don't be
cross with Lucy. She felt sorry for me, but I'll never eat lunch with
her,--truly."

"You don't know what you're talking about," rejoined Ada coldly.

"Yes, she