s all the girls knew,
that Beatrice did not like Marg'ret, and resented the prominence that
Marg'ret had been given in the play. She guessed, with a quickening
pulse, what Beatrice had said.

"What is the trouble, girls?" said Sister Rose's clear voice severely.

Marg'ret, crimson-cheeked, breathing hard, faced the room defiantly.
She was a gallant and pathetic little figure in her blue draperies. The
other child was plainly frightened at the result of the quarrel.

"Beatrice--?" said the nun, unyieldingly.

"She said I was a thief!" said Marg'ret, chokingly, as Beatrice did not
answer.

There was a general horrified gasp, the nun's own voice when she spoke
again was angry and quick.

"Beatrice, did you say that to Marg'ret?"

"I said--I said--" Beatrice was frightened, but aggrieved too. "I said
I thought it was wrong to wear a surplice, that was made to wear on the
altar, as an exhibition dress, and Marg'ret said, 'Why?' and I said
because I thought it was--something I wouldn't say, and Marg'ret said,
did I mean stealing, and I said, well, yes, I did, and then Marg'ret
said right out, 'Well, if you think I'm a thief, why don't you say so?'"

Nobody stirred. The case had reached the open court, and no little girl
present could have given a verdict to save her little soul.

"But--but--" the nun was bewildered, "but whoever did wear a surplice
for an exhibition dress? I never heard of such a thing!" Something in
the silence was suddenly significant. She turned her gaze from the
room, where it had been seeking intelligence from the other nuns and
the older girls, and looked back at the stage.

Marg'ret Hammond had dropped her proud little head, and her eyes were
hidden by the tangle of soft dark hair. Had Sister Rose needed further
evidence, the shocked faces all about would have supplied it.

"Marg'ret," she said, "were you going to wear Joe's surplice?"

Marg'ret did not answer.

"I'm sure, Sister, I didn't mean--" stammered Beatrice. Her voice died
out uncomfortably.

"Why were you going to do that, Marg'ret?" pursued the nun, quite at a
loss.

Again Marg'ret did not answer.

But Alanna Costello, who had worked her way from a scandalized crowd of
little girls to Marg'ret's side, and who stood now with her small face
one blaze of indignation, and her small person fairly vibrating with
the violence of her breathing, spoke out suddenly. Her brave little
voice rang through the room.

"Well--well--" st