He did not tell the girls what he thought about the matter, but he told Miss Richards plainly that he considered the inquiry was a prejudiced one, and that an injustice had been done.  They had made up their minds that Kitty was guilty, and had not made sufficient inquiries as regarded the other pupils.

Miss Richards was, of course, indignant and greatly upset, and Aunt Pike was in a great dilemma.  She scarcely liked to keep Anna at the school after her cousins were withdrawn from it, yet she was very loth to deprive her of the companionship of such desirable friends as she considered she was thrown amongst there.  Also, in her heart of hearts, Aunt Pike did not feel at all sure that Kitty was innocent.

“They are such extraordinary children,” she said to herself, “I would not be surprised at anything they did—­not from bad motives, perhaps, but from sheer ignorance of the difference between right and wrong.”

So Anna was to stay on at Hillside, at any rate until the term and the term’s notice should be up; and Miss Pooley came again to teach Kitty and Betty and Tony, greatly to Tony’s delight, for he had been having a dull time, poor little man, and had not found much joy in doing lessons with Aunt Pike.

So the rest of the term wore away, and time healed the wound to some extent; and by-and-by the Christmas holidays drew near and the date of Dan’s return, and that was sufficient to drive unwelcome thoughts from their minds and lighten every trouble.

“When the day comes, the real right day,” said Kitty, “I shall be quite perfectly happy—­”

“Touch wood,” said Betty anxiously; “you know it is unlucky to talk like that.  Fanny says so.”

“Pooh! nonsense!” cried Kitty, growing daring in her excitement.  “What could be lovelier than for Dan to be coming home, and Christmas coming, and the holidays; and oh, Betty, it does seem too good to be true, but it is true, and I am sure nothing could spoil it all.”

But Kitty had not touched wood, and had reckoned without Aunt Pike; and even when that lady came into their room with a paper parcel in her hand they suspected no harm—­in fact, they looked at the parcel with pleasure and excitement for a moment, even after she had said, “Children, I have got you some winter stockings, and you must put them on at once, the weather has become so cold.”  They even agreed heartily, and Betty plumped right down on the floor there and then, and bared one foot in readiness by the time the parcel was opened.

And then the parcel was opened, and dismay and horror fell on them, for the stockings were not only of an ugly pale gray, with white stripes going round and round the legs, but they were woollen ones!—­rough, harsh, scratchy woollen ones!  The colour was bad enough, but that was as nothing compared with the awful fact of their being woolly; for two children with more painfully sensitive skins than Katherine and Elizabeth Trenire could not be found in the whole wide world, and for them to wear anything in the shape of wool was a torture more dreaded than any other.