am not going away because I am poor, and I am not going to mind what any one thinks of me as long as I do right.  My room must stay empty and bare, because I have no money to make it full and beautiful.  And do you think that I would ask those—­ those who sent me here—­ to add one feather’s weight to their cares and expenses, to give me money to buy beautiful things because I am afraid of you?  No, I should be awfully afraid to do that; but I am not afraid of you.”

Priscilla opened the drawer of her bureau and put her little light purse back again in its hiding-place.

“Good night, Miss Peel,” said Miss Day in a thin, small kind of voice.

“Good night, Miss Peel,” said Miss Marsh.  The girls went gently out of the room.  They closed the door behind them, without making any noise.  Nancy Banister remained behind.  She came up to Priscilla and kissed her.

“You are brave,” she said.  “I admire you.  I—­ I—­ am proud of you.  I am glad to know that a girl like you has come to live here.”

“Don’t—­ don’t,” said poor Prissie.  Her little burst of courage had deserted her.  She covered her face with her trembling hands.  She did not want Nancy Banister to see that her eyes were full of tears.

CHAPTER VII

 In miss Oliphant’s room

“My dear,” said Nancy Banister that same evening—­ “my dear and beloved Maggie, we have both been guilty of a huge mistake.”

“What is that?” asked Miss Oliphant.  She was leaning back in a deep easy-chair, and Nancy, who did not care for luxurious seats, had perched herself on a little stool at her feet.  Nancy was a small, nervous-looking person; she had a zealous face and eager, almost too active movements.  Nancy was the soul of bustling good nature, of brightness and kindness.  She often said that Maggie Oliphant’s laziness rested her.

“What is it?” said Maggie again.  “How are we in the wrong, Nance?”

She lifted her dimpled hand as she spoke and contemplated it with a slow, satisfied sort of smile.

“We have made a mistake about Miss Peel, that is all; she is a very noble girl.”

“Oh, my dear Nance!  Poor little Puritan Prissie!  What next?”

“It is all very fine to call her names,” replied Nancy—­ here she sprang to her feet—­ “but I couldn’t do what she did.  Do you know that she absolutely and completely turned the tables on that vulgar Annie Day and that pushing, silly little Lucy Marsh.  I never saw any two look smaller or poorer than those two when they skedaddled out of her room.  Yes, that’s the word—­ they skedaddled to the door, both of them, looking as limp as a cotton dress when it has been worn for a week, and one almost treading on the other’s heels; and I do not think Prissie will be worried by them any more.”

“Really, Nancy, you look quite pretty when you are excited!  Now, what did this wonderful Miss Peel do?  Did she box the ears of those two detestable girls?  If so, she has my hearty congratulations.”