“Now, Cassie,” she said, “what is it?”

“Oh, can’t you guess for yourself, Flo?  It is this.  The school has got into trouble, and the governors and Miss Ravenscroft mean to sift the matter to the very bottom.  It is pretty bad when all things are considered, for if the girls won’t tell they will be expelled—­expelled without any hope of returning.  And I rather fancy Kathleen is the sort of girl whom no one will betray.  It is extremely awkward, and I feel very miserable about it.”

“You look it; and yet it isn’t your affair.  Your place in the school is secure enough.”

“What does that matter, Flo, when those you love are in danger?”

“Those you love in danger, Cassie!  What do you mean now?”

“I mean just what I say.  I am decidedly fond of little Ruth Craven.  She is placed in a hard position, but she is so clever and so pretty that she could do anything.  Well, I am certain that Ruth won’t betray her companions.”

“I forgot,” said Florence, “that she did belong to that silly society.  What a little goose she was!”

“She was led into it by Kathleen.  They all were for that matter.  Kathleen seems to have a singular power over them.”

“But Ruth doesn’t belong to it now.”

“No.  I can’t in justice to her explain any further, Florence.  I will tell you all I can, of course; but may I say good-bye now, for I have a good deal to do before dinner?”

“You are not half as friendly as you used to be,” said Florence, pouting.  “You hardly ever ask me to your house, and when I ask you to mine you always have an excuse ready.  It is somewhat hard on me that Ruth Craven should have come between us.”

“But she hasn’t.  I wish that you would believe that she hasn’t.  I have to give her a sort of protecting love; but you and I, Flo, are equal in our love.  Surely we can afford to be kind to a little girl who has not our advantages.”

“Oh, if you put it in that way, I don’t mind a bit,” said Florence cheerfully.  “Well, good-bye for the present.  We’ll meet to-morrow morning.”

The girls parted, and Florence went on her way home.

Meanwhile Ruth had also gone on her way.  She walked slowly.  Once or twice she stopped.  Once when in a somewhat narrow and lonely path she paused and looked up at the sky, and then down at the ground beneath her feet.  Once she uttered a short, expressive sort of sigh; and once she said half-aloud: 

“I do hope God will help me.  I do want to do just what is right.”

Thus, lagging as she walked, she by slow degrees reached her home.  Mrs. Craven happened to be out, but old Mr. Craven was seated by the fire.  He was feeling rather poorly to-day.  He had a large account-book open in front of him, and when Ruth entered he laid down the pen with which he had been summing up his figures.

“I can’t make them quite right,” he said slowly.

“Why, grandfather, what is the matter?” said Ruth in some surprise.