s. Bonnell, her lips twitching.

"She--she--" he strove to articulate. "She--she say she done got
de-de-sta-sta-sta'ch in--de la'ndry, an' she--she--taken dat fer ter be
ec'nomical an' save 'spence fer de school. It--it--wor lef' over by Aunt
Mandy f'om de washin'. She ain' think,--ha--ha,--she ain' think de
_bluin'_ in it mak' no diff'ence, he-he-he--. Please, ma'am, scuse me, I
can't stan' fo' no mo," and Wesley beat a hasty retreat.

Juno Daphne departed that afternoon, Mrs. Bonnell wishing to avoid the
services of a coroner.

As there was no study period on Friday evenings the girls were at liberty
to amuse themselves as they chose. At least, within limitations, though
they often miscalculated the limitations. The afternoon had been too dull
and cold for much outdoor exercise, so they had spent it in the gymnasium
practicing basket-ball. In March they would play a game with a team from
a town a few miles from Leslie Manor.

Beverly, Sally and Aileen were all on the team, Beverly having made it
through adaptability rather than knowledge, for she had never seen a
basketball before coming to school, but being as quick as a cat had made
good. Consequently the occupants of Suite 10 were glad to rest their
weary bodies upon couch or easy chairs when dinner was over, and Sally
was entertaining them with an account of her interview with Miss Baylis
after luncheon.

"She makes me tired. If it had been you, Bev, she would have sent you
down to Miss Woodhull's office in jig time. But I've a good one for Uncle
Tom," and Sally laughed.

"I wouldn't have cared if she had sent me. I'd rather come to an issue
with the Empress anytime than with Miss Baylis. But the whole thing was
funny as the mischief," answered Beverly from her big wicker chair.

"Let's make some fudge. I've got the needfuls, and it will sweeten our
tempers. Such things make me cross for hours. We don't indulge in petty
squabbles at home. Mother would be disgusted if she knew of some of the
things which take place here, and father would say there was something
wrong with the gasoline. He's just bought a new car so his metaphors are
apt to be gasoliney," laughed Aileen.

"What will you make the fudge in? You let Hope MacLeod have the chafing
dish."

Aileen looked daunted for a moment. Then her face lighted.

"I've a tin pail. I can make it in that."

"But _how_? You can't boil it without the lamp."

"Can't I? Just you watch me do it." Aileen was resou