l at once she stopped, with a frown.

"But I must see her," Allyn was saying sharply.

"She is busy."

"Never mind; she will see me."

There was a word or two more; then a silence, and Theodora returned to
her interrupted sentence. The next minute, she started abruptly, as she
heard a boyish fist descend on the panels of her door.

"Go away! Oh, my ink!" she exclaimed. "Please let me alone. It's all
tipped over."

"I'm sorry, Ted; but I must come." And Allyn stalked into the room.

"Oh, what do you want?" she asked despairingly, as she took up the
dripping pillow by the corners and looked about for a suitable place to
deposit it.

"Throw it out of the window," he suggested briefly. "I didn't mean to,
Teddy; but there's a row, and I must tell you."

She shut down the window sharply. Then she turned to look at him, and of
a sudden the annoyance vanished from her face and in its place there came
a new expression gentler and of a great protecting love. Years before, in
his invalid boyhood, her husband had known that look. Of late, no one but
Allyn had called it forth. To-day there was need for it, for Allyn was in
evident want of sympathy. His cheeks were flushed; but there was a white
line around his lips, and his hands, like his voice, were unsteady. He
was short and slight, with a mass of smooth brown hair and brown eyes
that for the moment had lost all their merriment and were sternly sombre
under their straight brows. His chin was firm; but his lips were not so
full of decision.

Swiftly Mrs. Farrington gathered up her papers and shut them into her
Desk. Then she turned abruptly, laid her hands on the boy's shoulders
and looked straight down into his eyes.

"What is it, Allyn?" she asked gravely.

For an instant his lips quivered. Then he said briefly,--

"I'm expelled, Teddy."

"Allyn!"

"Yes, I know."

"Not really?"

She read confirmation in his eyes.

"What for?" she demanded.

"For insulting Mr. Mitchell."

"What did you say?"

"I told him what I thought of him, and he didn't like it."

Theodora frowned at the tone of boyish bravado.

"Allyn," she said steadily; "tell me, what you have done."

"I told him he was a great deacon," the boy said hotly; "and I'm glad I
did it, too. He ought to know what we think of him. He goes to church
every Sunday, with a long face on him; and, all the rest of the week, he
bullies the fellows."

"At least, you think he does," Theodora amended.

"He