WAS silly," confessed Rebecca, hanging her head; "but it's
the only time in my whole life when I had anything to match it, and it
looked so beautiful with the pink dress! Emma Jane and I spoke a
dialogue about a city girl and a country girl, and it came to me just
the minute before I started how nice it would come in for the city
girl; and it did. I haven't hurt my dress a mite, aunt Mirandy."

"It's the craftiness and underhandedness of your actions that's the
worst," said Miranda coldly. "And look at the other things you've done!
It seems as if Satan possessed you! You went up the front stairs to
your room, but you didn't hide your tracks, for you dropped your
handkerchief on the way up. You left the screen out of your bedroom
window for the flies to come in all over the house. You never cleared
away your lunch nor set away a dish, AND YOU LEFT THE SIDE DOOR
UNLOCKED from half past twelve to three o'clock, so 't anybody could
'a' come in and stolen what they liked!"

Rebecca sat down heavily in her chair as she heard the list of her
transgressions. How could she have been so careless? The tears began to
flow now as she attempted to explain sins that never could be explained
or justified.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she faltered. "I was trimming the schoolroom, and
got belated, and ran all the way home. It was hard getting into my
dress alone, and I hadn't time to eat but a mouthful, and just at the
last minute, when I honestly--HONESTLY--would have thought about
clearing away and locking up, I looked at the clock and knew I could
hardly get back to school in time to form in the line; and I thought
how dreadful it would be to go in late and get my first black mark on a
Friday afternoon, with the minister's wife and the doctor's wife and
the school committee all there!"

"Don't wail and carry on now; it's no good cryin' over spilt milk,"
answered Miranda. "An ounce of good behavior is worth a pound of
repentance. Instead of tryin' to see how little trouble you can make in
a house that ain't your own home, it seems as if you tried to see how
much you could put us out. Take that rose out o' your dress and let me
see the spot it's made on your yoke, an' the rusty holes where the wet
pin went in. No, it ain't; but it's more by luck than forethought. I
ain't got any patience with your flowers and frizzled-out hair and
furbelows an' airs an' graces, for all the world like your Miss-Nancy
father."

Rebecca lifted her head in a