rue again. Poor little
Prue, with such a heritage of shame. How vehemently and innocently she
had declared that she would not be called Jeroma.

The wind blew sharply against her; she stepped back and closed the door;
she was shivering while her cheeks were blazing. She would go home, she
could not stay through the hour of the afternoon and be looked at and
commented upon. Was not Miss Prudence's shame and sorrow her own? As
she was reaching for her cloak she remembered that she must ask to be
excused, taking it down and throwing it over her arm she re-entered the
schoolroom.

Master McCosh was writing at the table, a group of girls were clustered
around one of the registers.

"It was mean! It was real mean!" a voice was exclaiming.

"I don't see how you _could_ tell her, Clarissa Parks! You know she
adores Miss Pomeroy."

"You all seemed to listen well enough," retorted Miss Parks.

"We were spell-bound. We couldn't help it," excused Emma Downs.

"I knew it before," said Maria Denyse.

"I didn't know Miss Pomeroy was the lady," said Lizzie Harrowgate. "She
is mother's best friend, so I suppose she wouldn't tell me. They both
came here to school."

Master McCosh raised his head.

"What new gossip now, girls?" he inquired sternly.

"Oh, nothing," answered Miss Parks.

"You are making quite a hubbub about nothing. The next time that subject
is mentioned the young lady who does it takes her books and goes home.
Miss Holmes expects to come here among you, and the girl who does not
treat her with consideration may better stay at home. Jerome Holmes was
the friend of my boyhood and manhood; he sinned and he suffered for it;
his story does not belong to your generation. It is not through any merit
of yours that your fathers are honorable men. It becomes us all to be
humble?"

A hush fell upon the group. Clarissa Parks colored with anger; why should
_she_ be rebuked, she was not a thief nor the daughter of a thief.

Marjorie went to the master and standing before him with her cheeks
blazing and eyes downcast she asked:

"May I go home? I cannot recite this afternoon."

"If you prefer, yes," he replied in his usual tone; "but I hardly think
you care to see Miss Pomeroy just now."

"Oh, no, I didn't think of that; I only thought of getting away from
here."

"Getting away is not always the best plan," he replied, his pen still
moving rapidly.

"Is it true? Is it _all_ true?"

"It is all true. Jerome Holm