“I think you might be glad, Marjorie.”

But was it not all selfishness, after all?  She was arranging to give Prue a disappointment merely to spare herself.  The child would not understand anything.  But then, would Aunt Prue want her to go?  She must do what Miss Prudence would like; that would decide it all.

Oh, dear!  Marjorie was a big girl, too big for any nonsense, but there were unmistakable tears on her cheeks, and she turned away from sleeping Prue and covered her face with both hands.  And then, beside this, Morris was gone and she had not been kind to him.  “Good-bye, Marjorie—­dear” the words smote her while they gave her a feeling of something to be very happy about.  There did seem to be a good many things to cry about this morning.

“Marjorie, are you awake?” whispered a soft voice, while little fingers were in her hair and tickling her ear.

Marjorie did not want to be awake.

“Marjorie,” with an appeal in the voice.

Then the tears had to be brushed away, and she turned and put both arms around the white soft bundle and rubbed her cheek against her hair.

“Oh, do you think it’s storming?”

“No.”

“You will have to curl my hair.”

“Yes.”

“And mustn’t we get up?  Shan’t we be late?”

“Listen a minute; I want to tell you something.”

“Is it something dreadful? Your voice sounds so.”

“No not dreadful one bit.  But it is a disappointment for a little girl I know.”

“Oh, is it me?” clinging to her.

“Yes, it is you.”

“Is it about going to school?” she asked with a quick little sob.

“Yes.”

“Can’t I go, Marjorie?”

“Not to-day, darling.”

“Oh, dear!” she moaned.  “I did want to so.”

“I know it, and I’m so sorry.  I am more sorry than you are.  I was so sorry that I could not talk about it last night.”

“Can’t I know the reason?” she asked patiently.

“The reason is this:  Aunt Prue would not let you go.  She would not let you go if she knew about something that happened in school yesterday.”

“Was it something so bad?”

“It was something very uncomfortable; something that made me very unhappy, and if you were old enough to understand you would not want to go.  You wouldn’t go for anything.”

“Then what makes you go?” asked Prue quickly.

“Because I have to.”

“Will it hurt you to-day?”

“Yes.”

“Then I wouldn’t go.  Tell Aunt Prue; she won’t make you go.”

“I don’t want to tell her; it would make her cry.”

“Then don’t tell her.  I’ll stay home then—­if I have to.  But I want to go.  I can stand it if you can.”

Marjorie laughed at her resignation and resolution and rolling her over pushed her gently out down to the carpet.  Perhaps it would be better to stay home if there were something so dreadful at school, and Deborah might let her make molasses candy.