“To think,” began Miss Ellis severely, on returning to the room, “that I should be so disgraced.  Not enough to have one or two girls accused of—­ of a crime—­but that the rest should so misbehave before an officer of Dalton!  I shall be obliged to send to the president of the Board; something I have never before had to do.  But this matter must be thoroughly investigated.  I am very sorry, Miss Dale, that you should be implicated, sorry for your father’s sake.  But it all comes of associating with girls who—­who will not be governed by those in proper authority,” and the teacher adjusted her glasses, satisfied that she at least held a position as head of Dalton School with dignity and “authority” that such an office required.

Poor Dorothy!  Her aching head was now bowed on the desk before her, and her sobs were so pitiful, even the most thoughtless girl in the room was silent and sad to see her weeping so.

Alice MacAllister sat upright at her desk.  Her strong face assumed a daring expression—­that of defiance.  Alice was counted a good-natured girl.  Something of a romp, perhaps, for her companions often called her “Mack” and she showed a preference for the boyish nickname.

But to see Dorothy weeping so, accused unjustly!

Alice raised her hand for permission to speak.  Miss Ellis signed for her to go on.

Again that sense of suppressed excitement was felt in the class room.  Something else was going to happen.

“Miss Ellis,” began Alice in a firm voice, “Dorothy Dale is not to blame—­”

“That is not for you to decide.”

“But we were all there, and know as much about it as she does.”

“At least she knows enough to keep her place.  Sit down at once,” and the teacher looked very much annoyed.

“Not until you have heard me,” and Alice raised her voice a little.

“Go on!  Go on!” murmured the girls about her.  “Make her listen.”

“Sarah Ford was never hurt in the school yard,” declared Alice.  “My brother saw her running down the lane just as the bell rang, and she could not stir when Dorothy and Tavia found her.”

“Be silent this moment!” called Miss Ellis, rapping her ruler on the desk.  “Your brother’s story is of no account in this matter.”

Dorothy raised her head.  The room was in a commotion.  Miss Ellis seemed too surprised at the girl’s audacity to try to restore order.  Perhaps no one was more surprised than Alice herself, for when she spoke first she had no idea of going so far,—­it was that remark reflecting upon her brother’s veracity that angered her.

Then the sobbing of Dorothy—­Alice could not stand it to see her crying that way; better brave dismissal than sit by and listen to that.

With one glance towards Alice—­a glance full of gratitude and love.  Dorothy arose and asked to be excused.

“I must go home—­” she stammered “I have such a sick headache.”