It was in vain that the greatly distressed and astonished lady protested her innocence, pleading her sleepless nights and lame ankle as proofs of having done her duty; Madam Conway would not listen.  “Somebody was of course to blame,” and as it is a long-established rule that a part of every teacher’s duty is to be responsible for the faults of the pupils, so Madam Conway now continued to chide Mrs. Jeffrey as the prime-mover of everything, until that lady, overwhelmed with the sense of injustice done her, left the oil and retired to her room, saying as she closed the door:  “I was never so injured in all my life—­never.  To think that after all my trouble she should charge it to me!  It will break my heart, I know.  Where shall I go for comfort or rest?”

This last word was opportune and suggestive.  If rest could not be found in Baxter’s “Saints’ Rest,” it was not by her to be found at all; and, sitting down by the window in the gray dawn of the morning, she strove to draw comfort from the words of the good divine; but in vain.  It had never failed her before; but never before had she been so deeply injured; and, closing the volume at last, she paced the floor in a very perturbed state of mind.

Meantime, Madam Conway had sought her granddaughter’s chamber, where Theo in her fright had taken refuge under the bed, while Maggie feigned a deep, sound sleep.  A few vigorous shakes, however, aroused her, when, greatly to the amazement of her grandmother, she burst into a merry laugh, and, winding her arms around the highly scandalized lady’s neck, said:  “Forgive me, grandma, I’ve been awake ever since you came home.  I did not mean to leave the dining room in such disorder, but I was so tired, and we had such fun!  Hear me out,” she continued, laying her hand over the mouth of her grandmother, who attempted to speak; “Mrs. Jeffrey told you how Mr. Warner broke his leg, and was brought here.  He is a real nice young man, and so is Mr. Douglas, who came out to see him.  They are partners in the firm of Douglas & Co., Worcester.”

“Henry Warner is nothing but the Co., though; Mr. Douglas owns the store, and is worth two hundred thousand dollars!” cried a smothered voice under the bed; and Theo emerged into view, with a feather or two ornamenting her hair, and herself looking a little uneasy and frightened.

The two hundred thousand dollars produced a magical effect upon the old lady, exonerating George Douglas at once from all blame.  But towards Henry Warner she was not thus lenient; for, coward-like, Theo charged him with having suggested everything, even to the cutting up of the ancestral red coat for Freedom’s banner!

“What!” fairly screamed Madam Conway, who in her hasty glance at the flag had not observed the material; “not taken my grandfather’s coat for a banner!”

“Yes, he did,” said Theo, “and Maggie cut up your blue satin bodice for stars, and took one of your fine linen sheets for the foundation.”