king of Miss
Nelson to keep Ermie at home on my very first holiday."

"Oh, but you know she must maintain discipline," said Marjorie,
putting her finger to her lip again.

Basil burst out laughing.

"Don't use such solemn words, Mag," he said. "You are only a baby;
words of wisdom don't suit you a bit."

"I'm eleven," said Marjorie, in a hurt voice.

She ran off to the kitchen, and delivered her message. The cook, who
was fond of good-humored little Marjorie, consulted her about the
viands. She replied solemnly, and tried to look interested, but the
zest had gone out of her voice. The first moment she had to spare she
rushed to her school-desk, and scribbled a note.

"Dear Ermie," she said, "I'm miserable that the wickedness is
discovered. Don't be a bit frightened though, for Basil shan't guess
anything. Your fond sister, MARJORIE WILTON."

This note Marjorie inclosed in one of her favorite envelopes, with a
forget-me-not wreath in blue on the flap, and before the schoolroom
party started for the picnic, she pushed it under the door of Miss
Nelson's sitting-room.

Ermengarde had expended her first rage, and she was very glad to pick
up Marjorie's note, and to read it. At first the contents of the note
gave her a slight feeling of satisfaction, and a glow of gratitude to
her little sister rushed over her. But then she remembered Miss
Nelson's words, and the conviction once more ran through her mind that
Marjorie must have been the one to tell.

"She is a canting little thing," said Ermengarde in a passion, "_My_
wickedness, indeed! Who else would call an innocent drive wickedness?
Oh, yes; she let out the whole story to Miss Nelson, and now she wants
to come round me with this letter, after her horrid tell-tale way.
Little monkey! Horrid, ugly little thing, too. Tell-tale-tit, your
tongue shall be slit. No, no, Miss Marjorie; you need not suppose that
this note blinds me! I know what you've done to me, and I'll never
forgive you--never, as long as I live!"

Ermengarde now tore up the poor little letter, and opening the window
scattered the tiny fragments to the breeze. Once again her anger
scarcely knew any bounds. They were away, the whole happy party, and
she was shut up in a dull room, compelled to endure solitary
confinement all through this glorious August day. It was insufferable,
it was maddening, and it was all Marjorie's fault!

It is astonishing how soon the mind, when angry, can establish within