One afternoon—­Anne was looking especially dejected as she took her lonely walk in the west yard—­Miss Morris thrust into Elsie’s hands a bag of candies and whispered hurriedly:  “When you go to divide—­yonder is Anne under the grape arbor and I do believe she’s crying.”

Elsie trotted straight to Anne with her smiles and bonbons.  Anne was so cheered that she came in, sat down at the study-table, and took up her history with whole-hearted interest.

Amelia, on the other side of the table, looked up and frowned.  “That’s an awful hard hist’ry lesson,” she said.

Anne was disinclined to speak to Amelia—­Amelia had been so hateful!—­but finally she said rather curtly:  “I don’t think it’s hard.”

Amelia twirled a box that she held in her hand.  “I do.  I can’t remember those old Mexican names, or who went where and which whipped when.”

That made Anne laugh.  “Of course you can,” she said.  “Just play you’re there, marching ’long with the ’Merican soldiers.  There’s General Taylor, sitting stiff and straight on a white horse.  Up rides a little Mexican on a pony.  ’Look at our gre’t big army and see how few men you’ve got,’ he says.  ’S’render, General Taylor, s’render, before we beat you into a cocked hat.’  General Taylor looks at him—­no, he doesn’t, he looks ’way ’cross the hills,—­mountains, I mean—­and says, ‘General Taylor never s’renders.’  And the Mexican whips his pony and gallops away.  Then General Taylor he draws up his little army of five thousand br-rave Americans right here—­” Anne put her finger on an ink-spot.

“Let me get my book, Anne, and you go over all the lesson, won’t you?” pleaded Amelia.  “I used to know my lessons when you did that.  And Miss Morris says if I don’t do better she is going to drop me out of class and give me review work in recreation hour.  Please, Anne.”

“I don’t care if I do,” responded Anne.  She was lonely enough to feel that she would even enjoy studying a history lesson with stupid Amelia.

“I’ll leave my box here.”  Amelia started off, but came back a moment later.  “I forgot I left my purse in my box,” she said.  She opened the purse and counted the money.  “I had another two-franc piece,” she said, with a sharp look at Anne.  Anne glanced from the dominoes that she was drawing up in line of battle on the table.

“Did you?” she asked unconcernedly.

Her indifference provoked Amelia.  “Yes, I did,” she asserted.  “I had two two-franc pieces in my purse.  One of them’s gone.  Did you take it, Anne Lewis?”

“Take it?” Anne repeated.  Was Amelia really suspecting—­accusing her of taking the money?  That was impossible!

“Yes, take it,” cried Amelia, flushed and angry.  “You stole those jewels and money from no one knows who.  Now you’ve stolen my money.  You’ve got to give it back.”

Every drop of blood seemed to ebb from Anne’s face, leaving it as pale as ashes, while her narrowed eyes blazed like live coals.