must have planned it all
before. You just watch for a few minutes. She has been up to ever so
many, and then, as soon as they notice her, they move away. I wonder
what's the meaning of it? Millie notices it herself. You just look at
her. She's as uncomfortable as she can be."

Patty raised her head sharply, and followed the direction of Mona's eyes.
Millie was just joining on to a group of four or five. Patty saw a glance
exchanged, and two girls turned on their heels at once; then another, and
another, until Millie, with scared face and eyes full of shame and pain,
stood alone once more. She looked ready to cry with mortification.

Patty, her face rosy with indignation, called across the yard to her; her
clear voice raised so that all should hear. "Millie, will you come for a
walk when we come out of school this afternoon?" Then going over and
thrusting her arm through Millie's, she led her back to where Mona was
still standing.

"Mona is going, too, ain't you, Mona? I don't know, though, if we shall
have much time for a walk; we're going to the Library to choose a book
each. Which do you think Mona would like?"

But Millie could not answer. The unkindness she had met with that morning
and the kindness had stabbed deep; so deep that her eyes were full of
tears, and her throat choked with sobs. Mona, looking up, saw it, and all
her resentment against her faded.

"I wish you'd come, too, Millie, and help us choose," she said. "You read
so much, you know which are the nicest."

"All right," said Millie, in a choked kind of voice. "I'd love to."
And then the doors opened, and they all trooped into their places.

When they came out from the morning service each went home with her own
people. Patty, looking fragile and pale, was helped along by her father.
Mona joined her father and grandmother. She was quiet, and had very
little to say.

"Did you like your class?" asked granny. She was a little puzzled by
Mona's manner. She had expected her to be full of excitement.

"Yes, I liked it very much," but she did not add anything more then.
It was not until evening, when they were sitting together in the
firelight, that she opened her heart on the subject. "I wish I'd known
our teacher all my life," she said, with a sigh.

"Why, dearie?"

"Oh--I don't know--gran--but she makes you see things, and she makes you
feel so--so--well as if you do want to be good, and yet you feel you want
to cry."

"