bably tell me herself."

Madge knew she should not speak in this rude fashion to her teacher,
but she was an impetuous, high-spirited girl who could not bear
censure. Besides, she had a special prejudice against Miss Jones. She
was particularly homely and there was something awkward and repellant
in her manner. Worshipping beauty and graciousness, Madge could not
forgive her teacher her lack of both. Besides, Madge did not entirely
trust Miss Jones. Still, the girl was sorry she had made her impolite
speech, so she stood quietly waiting for her teacher's reproof, with
her curly head bent low, her eyes mutinous.

She waited an instant. When she looked up, to her dismay she saw that
the eyes of her despised teacher were full of tears.

"I wonder why you dislike me so, Miss Morton?" Miss Jones inquired
sadly.

Madge could have given her a dozen reasons for her dislike, but she did
not wish to be disagreeable. "I am dreadfully sorry I was so rude to
you," she murmured.

"Oh, it does not matter. Nothing matters, I am so unhappy," Miss Jones
replied unexpectedly. Just why Miss Jones should have chosen Madge
Morton for her confidante at this moment neither ever knew. Miss Jones
had a number of friends among the other girls in the school; but she
and this clever southern girl had been enemies since Miss Jones had
first taken charge of the English History class and had reproved Madge
for helping one of the younger girls with her lesson. Miss Jones's
confession had slipped out involuntarily. Now she put her head down on
the library table and sobbed.

With any other teacher, or with any of the girls, Madge might have
cried in sympathy. Somehow, she could not cry with Miss Jones. She
felt nothing save embarrassment.

"What is the matter?" she asked slowly.

Miss Jones shook her head. "It's nothing. I am sorry to have given
way to my feelings. I have had bad news. My doctor has just written
me that if I don't spend the summer out-of-doors, I am in danger of
consumption." Miss Jones uttered the dreadful word quite calmly.

Madge gave a low cry of distress. She thought of the number of times
she had made fun of her teacher's flat chest and stooping shoulders and
of her bad temper. After all, Eleanor had been right. Illness had
been the cause of Miss Jones's peculiarities.

"Miss Jones," Madge returned, her sympathies fully enlisted, "you must
not feel so troubled. I am sure you will soon be all righ