schief followed them, and if it
made the girls contented and happy it was all right.

How she came to have this perfect understanding it would be difficult
to tell, only she was found, in some unknown and mysterious way, to
always have the reins in her own hands, no matter how restive the
colts she had to control.

The club had grown from the original number of seven, to twelve, the
new members having been chosen from among the brightest and most
mischievous girls in school. This made Miss Ashton wonder at their
uniformly quiet behavior, and increased the vigilance of her watch.

About three weeks after the visit of Cousin Abijah, it was announced
that a series of tableaux would be given on Friday evening,
illustrating a poem written by Miss Kate Underwood.

Kate's poetical abilities were well known and greatly admired by the
school, even the teachers gave her credit for a knack at humorous
sketches rather unusual. She was to be, perhaps, a second John Saxe,
possibly an Oliver Wendell Holmes, who could tell? The gift was worth
cultivating, particularly as it did not interfere with Kate's soberer
and more disciplinary studies.

Miss Ashton did not think it necessary to see the poem. It was
probably witty, if not wise, and wisdom need not intrude its grave
face always into the freedom of the Friday nights; indeed, she rather
winked at the performance, as she and her associate principal were to
be out of town on that night, and "high fun" in the hall served to
keep the girls from any more serious mischief.

All the club were pledged to the most profound secrecy as to what the
tableaux were to be; and, for a wonder, there were no revelations
made, even to the "dear, intimate friend," who was not a member, and
who generally shared the most "profound secret," no matter from what
source it emanated.

After evening prayers, the hall was given to the club, and as every
arrangement had been made previously for the decoration of the stage,
the work was completed and the doors thrown open at an early hour.

The hall was soon filled, and the buzz of expectation began long
before the curtain was raised; when it was, it showed an interior of a
farm kitchen of the olden times. Clothes-bars had been skilfully
placed so as to represent a low ceiling, and from them depended hams
wrapped in brown paper coverings, sausages enclosed in cloth bags,
herbs tied in bunches and labelled in large letters, "Sage, Camomile,
Fennel, Dock, C