received a convincing proof of little Joy's
friendship, by her invitation to tea at the row.

The midsummer holidays were approaching, and she was determined to bear
all the rebuffs she met with from her school-fellows with fortitude.
What did anything matter if Joy loved her!

When Bet reached the gates of the garden before Miss Bayliff's school,
she saw a knot of girls standing there. She came slowly towards them,
shuffling her feet as usual in an awkward fashion, and not daring to
draw too near the charmed circle, for her defender was not there.

"Little Joy is late this morning," one of the girls said. "But we must
go indoors; Miss Bayliff is in a rage if we crowd outside. Here, Bet,
do you know where little Miss Joy is?"

"How should she?" said another voice. "Here comes May Owen; let us ask
her: she lives in Broad Row."

May Owen was the daughter of an ironmonger, whose premises were at the
corner of the row, just above Uncle Bobo's shop.

"Well," she said, "have you heard about poor little Joy?"

"No; what's the matter?" asked a chorus of voices.

"She was out last evening with Mr. Boyd, and as they were coming home a
horse came galloping along the Market Place, and Joy was knocked down.
She has hurt her head, they say, or her back. The doctor has been
there half the night, and Mr. Boyd is mad with grief. It has made a
scene, I can tell you, in the row."

"Why, Bet!" one of the girls exclaimed, "don't do that!"

For poor Bet had seized the arm of the girl nearest her to support
herself. Her heart beat wildly, her face was blanched with fear, as
she gasped out--

"Oh, I must go to little Miss Joy! I must, indeed I must!"

"Nonsense! Don't squeeze my arm like that; you'll pinch me black and
blue. _You_ can't go to little Miss Joy; she wouldn't want _you_."

"No; I should think not!" said May Owen. "The notion of a scarecrow
like you being a pleasant sight to Mr. Boyd in his trouble! Mrs.
Harrison is with the child."

"Tell me--tell me," poor Bertha gasped; "will she get well? will she
live?"

"I don't know. Let us hope so, for she is a darling, and every one
loves her," said another voice. And then a bell rang, and the girls
trooped up the steps into the house, and the business of the morning
began.

Who shall tell the misery of those long hours in school to Bertha? She
could only gaze at the white face of the clock, and count the minutes
as the long hand passed over them. As to