“Have you any idea of redeeming it?”

“I hope to do so, of course.”

The banker knew perfectly well who Mary Louise was and suspected she needed money.

“This is no pawnbroker’s shop,” he asserted.  “I’ll give you a hundred dollars, outright, for this pearl brooch—­as a purchase, understand—­but the rest of the junk I don’t want.”

A little man who had entered the hardware store to purchase a tin dipper was getting so close to the “bank” that Mary Louise feared being overheard; so she did not argue with Mr. Watson.  Deciding that a hundred dollars ought to take her to Dorfield, she promptly accepted the offer, signed a bill of sale and received her money.  Then she walked two miles to the railway station and discovered that a ticket to Dorfield could be bought for ninety-two dollars.  That would give her eight dollars leeway, which seemed quite sufficient.  Elated at the prospect of freedom she returned to the school to make her preparation for departure and arrived just in time to join the other girls at dinner.

CHAPTER VII

THE ESCAPE

As she packed her trunk behind the locked door of her room—­an unnecessary precaution, since the girls generally avoided her society—­ Mary Louise considered whether to confide the fact of her going to Miss Stearne or to depart without a word of adieu.  In the latter case she would forfeit her trunk and her pretty clothes, which she did not wish to do unless it proved absolutely necessary; and, after all, she decided, frankness was best.  Gran’pa Jim had often said that what one could not do openly should not be done at all.  There was nothing to be ashamed of in her resolve to leave the school where she was so unhappy.  The girls did not want her there and she did not want to stay; the school would be relieved of a disturbing element and Mary Louise would be relieved of unjust persecution; no blame attached to any but those who had made public this vile slander against her grandfather.  From all viewpoints she considered she was doing the right thing; so, when her preparations were complete, she went to Miss Stearne’s room, although it was now after eight o’clock in the evening, and requested an interview.

“I am going away,” she quietly announced to the principal.

“Going away!  But where?” asked the astonished teacher.

“I cannot tell you that, Miss Stearne.”

“Do you not know?”

“Yes, I know, but I prefer not to tell you.”

Miss Stearne was greatly annoyed.  She was also perplexed.  The fact that Mary Louise was deserting her school did not seem so important, at the moment, as the danger involved by a young girl’s going out into the world unprotected.  The good woman had already been rendered very nervous by the dreadful accusation of Colonel Weatherby and the consequent stigma that attached to his granddaughter, a pupil